And the games continued
by Graceaga
Summary: The spark faded, the flame blew out, the rebellion failed. And now,years later, the capitol fear a new rebellion is to take place. And this one might just be strong enough to defeat the capitol. Will the 169th hunger games quell the flame? Or will it just add fat to the fire?
1. Chapter 1

**Timber Andrews, District Seven**

My eyes snap open.

Green.

Brown.

Green.

Green.

Brown.

Green.

The colours blur as I turn my head, taking it all in.

My head swishes from side to side, searching the landscape and my confused mind. Where am I? Where am I?

I stop, confused. Take a deep breath. The world comes into focus.

The woods. The woods. I'm in the woods, I must be.

What am I doing in the woods at this time in the morning? My eyes raise up to face the sky, searching for the sun. It's low in the skyline. Early morning. Too early. If the peacekeepers knew I was up after curfew they'd –

And then I'm up. On my feet. Running. Thrashing through the branches. Home. I need to get home. Preferably before they realize I'm missing.

Since I'm in District Seven going into the woods is not a crime. They encourage us going to work, actually. But if they suspected I was poaching that would be a complete other story. Especially after curfew. Especially all night.

I reach the edge of the forest in almost no time.

The place is crawling with peacekeepers. More than usual.

They have to know I'm missing.

Damn it!

I Shield myself away from them, hiding behind a large trunk. I should stay camouflaged here for a while. At least until I can think of a way out.

Then, suddenly, without warning, the whole lot of them march off. Including the ones nearest to me that seem to be guarding the borderline between the forest and the rest of District Seven. Changing shifts, I suppose.

I see my opportunity and take it. I take off running again. All the way to the market square.

The market stall holders are allowed up before curfew ends so they can set up their stalls. It's a good alibi. I spend a fair part of my time there, anyway, so the peacekeepers would believe it.

"You're not running away, are you, Timber?" I turn to face Barley, who owns the bread stall.

"Course not!" I say.

"So what are you doing?" He asks "Running from someone?"

The way he says 'someone', I know he means the peacekeepers.

I can't lie to Barley. He's alright. Almost a friend.

"Sort of," I say, then, lowering my voice "I fell asleep in the woods,"

"On the worst possible day, too." He says.

I frown.

"Worst possible day?"

"You know, today being…" he trails off.

"Today being what?" I say, confused.

"Reaping day," A hard voice calls from behind me, its Pine from the liquor stall.

"You forgot?" Barley says softly.

But I'm no longer listening properly; I'm gazing into the distance, wishing I could run. Wishing I had run.

_I am tied to the whipping post, my back bare, my bones rigid, waiting for the first blow. A crowd mills around, watching, waiting._

_The head peacekeeper raises the whip. I wait for the crack of the whip, the pain. Neither comes. Just a voice, yelling out._

_It's the new mayor. I can see, only slightly from my cramped position but I think he is holding a large brown book._

_It appears he is talking to the head peacekeeper._

_"How old are you?" It takes a while to realize he is talking to me._

_"Fifteen."_

_This seems to please the mayor._

_I barely hear the conversation but it appears the mayor is fighting for my case._

_"Sir, this would be a death sentence if she was any older than she is." _

_"It clearly states, here. Look, you can't punish her like this. She's too young."_

_"Well, wait until she is older, then."_

_"That's unlawful."_

_"The old mayor didn't mind,"_

_They debate it for a while. The mayor, the head peacekeeper and a couple of other high-ranking peacekeepers. The mayor's argument wins, in the end. I am fined a large amount of money I don't have. The peacekeepers made to untie me._

_I smirk at the head peacekeeper behind the mayors back. For a moment it looks like he's going to hit me, but he controls himself._

_He smiles back, it's the smile of a tiger that's about to pounce on its prey. _

_"You'd make a good tribute in the hunger games, you know,"_

_I narrow my eyes._

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Work it out," He tosses the words carelessly over his shoulder and walks away._

_Then I understand._

"Timber?" I turn back to Barley, "Are you alright?"

"Fine,"

"No you're not. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Come on!" he says, "A problem shared is a problem halved and all that."

"I think I'm going to be in the hunger games,"

He shrugs,

"A lot of kids do. Not many are."

"The head peacekeeper…..he said….."

"He was just trying to scare you," Barley insists.

"I don't buy it. Peacekeepers don't make idle threats."

The mayor beat him. The mayor made him look bad. Now he's out to prove us all wrong. Even if the mayors got our backs, justice will be done, that's what he means. A lesson to us all.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Timber." Barley says as a last attempt.

"I am worried about it."

"Then go get ready for the reaping, it's in an hour."

"An hour?"

It's normally a lot later than that.

"Yeah," he explains "They announced it last night. There's going to be some kind of rule change."

Well, that can't be good. The odds are this change won't be in the districts favour.

Barley notices my look.

"Don't worry about it," He says, and then turns to the customer "What can I do for you, madam?"

I snatch a bread roll from his stall before running down the street, ducking into little allays whenever I spot a peacekeeper.

That's what I was at the whipping post for in the first place. Stealing. Well, a little more than just stealing. Since my father died that's what I've had to do to earn a living. You can't get well-paid work until you are eighteen, so it had to be done. Come to think of it, I did a fair bit before he passed on. The medication he needed was very pricey and a few items…fell into my hands.

It didn't make a blind bit of difference.

I slot the brass key into the lock of the old wooden door of our house and quickly slip inside. Although I am the only one that lives here I still think of the place as if it's still my parents.

I take a seat in front of the looking glass, in my parent's room and remember days that were a long time ago. I remember my father, of course, that was only a couple of years back. I miss him every day. Mother died when I was young, so my memories of her are more vague. I only really remember her when I sit in this place. No conversation, no voice, just the image of her face behind mine when I was younger. Sometimes I kid myself that she still watches me here I sit here. Somehow I feel her spiritual presence in this place.

I picture her face as I drag her old hairbrush through my dark brown locks. Hair a little lighter than mine, eyes the same green as the treetops, her warm, motherly smile.

"Bye, Mother," I whisper, "I probably won't be coming back here."

Then I turn to face the bed.

"Goodbye, father," I whisper "The next time I see you I will be in Heaven."

I smile at what fathers answer would be to that. He never believed in Heaven or God. He thought it unbelievable that someone would create a world like this one. This world with all the pain, all the suffering. This world that lets the hunger games continue.

I don't dress up for the reaping, I've never cared about things like that. Since I am going into the games, this year I want to dress up and look nice even less. This is my home, yes, but I've lived my life all over the district. I've worked a shift or two, studied at school, played in the meadow, climbed in the forest, been to the shops, stole from the market, grieved at the graveyard. District Seven is a big place and I have less than an hour to see it all. I have already wasted enough time.

I slam out of the house. Shove the key in my pocket, though I won't have much use for it in the rest of my life.

The streets are virtually empty, there is only the occasional person hurrying by. Most people like to spend the reaping day at home with the people they love. I'm not like most people.

I go to the school first. Some would find it odd that I have decided to visit this place on my last day since I spent so much time trying to escape this place. I did actually get out, once or twice.

I lean up against the gate, looking into the playing fields.

"You're a bit lost aren't you?" A young-sounding male voice calls from behind.

I turn to face the speaker.

"Hi Skylark," I say.

"What are you doing here?" He says, "You spend all those years trying to get away and the one day you get to stay at home you turn up."

It's a feeble joke so I give him a feeble smile. To be fair, its reaping day, nothing can be that funny.

"I'm remembering," I say, simply.

"Like that time you climbed out of the window when maths got dull?" He says.

"Yeah,"

He bids me farewell and goes back along the path I came.

I continue down the little side path that leads to the meadow. I used to come here a lot when I was a little kid. There is a swing and slide back in the kid's playground at school, but I never liked it there. It was always too crowded. It never felt safe. So a group of about four of us used to slip through the gap in the fence at lunchtime and hang about here. The old tire swing that we fastened to one of the branches is still there. As for the friends, I can't even remember their names. We just grew apart as we went through school.

I came here a bit when I was older, too. Minus the friends. Whenever I came here always seemed to stop worrying, I used to forget. Not today.

I should probably be going to the square. There's one more place I need to go before I can wave District Seven goodbye.

The graveyard.

I shoot back along the side path and come out near the school, but I don't stop. I keep on running. Taking the little back allies and cutting through lots of small wooded areas.

I'm gasping for breath by the time I reach the place.

But I don't go to the grave straight away.

A muscular male figure is knelt beside my mother's gravestone, the place I should be. I watch him, from my place hidden behind an angel memorial statue, wondering what on earth he is doing. His lips seem to be moving slightly. He must have known my parents.

I recognise him from somewhere. Yes, he must be an old friend of my parents.

I'm about to reveal myself when he turns and exits the graveyard, leaving a single crimson rose leaning up against mothers headstone. A past lover?

I come out from hiding and kneel beside mother's headstone. Every year I try to conquer up a better image of her in my mind. Anything, the sound of her voice, or the memory of something she said. As usual, I come up with a blank. I rest my hand on the rose for a moment. Red roses were mother's favourite flower, or so I've been told. I switch positions and kneel beside father's grave. The memories never stop. I spend a few blissful moments remembering him in great detail. His laugh, his voice, his smile. The image of him I create is so vivid I can almost see him sitting nearby, almost hear his laugh, almost, but not quite.

The trip back from the graveyard is much slower than the journey there. It's like this whenever I leave the graveyard. I have a numb feeling inside me. They've been gone a long time, but I still miss them.

The thing that forces me to speed up is the ringing of bells that indicates the reaping is nearly here. Suddenly, I just want to get this whole thing over with.

I join at the back of one of the lines to sign in. Unluckily, the peacekeeper at the front is the head peacekeeper. He gives me his sly grin as he takes a sample of my blood before shoving me into the square. Since seven is so large we don't bother with age order we just all mingle in together, not even parting the boys from the girls. Those too young or too old to be reaped crowd into some of the little side streets and nearby shops. The richer families are sat up on the balconies of nearby shops and houses.

The first thing out of the ordinary that I see is the makeshift stage is set up backing onto the road rather than in front of the justice building. Then I notice that the mayor is not on the front of the stage but a large screen is set up. His podium is slightly to the left. The next odd thing is there are six reapening balls, three on each side of the screen.

Everything else is completely normal. The escort is stood next to the mayor, chattering nervously. On the other side of the stage our remaining victors stand in silence. There are two of them: Cinnamon Lee and Shade Cabot. I don't know either of them well as victors tend to stay away from the poorer of us.

The mayor has to call out three times before he gets our attention. The six clear bowls have obviously scared everyone around into endless nervous chatter.

"People of District seven! Can I have your attention, please?" He yells out, "District Seven!" Then, "People of District Seven!"

We become quiet, except for a few frightened whispers and the movement of feet.

"Before we move onto the reapening, our president would like to say something," he rubs his hands together nervously, "People of District Seven, President Claudius Curio,"

This can't be good. The President is non-existent until the tributes reach the Capitol. This really can't be good.

The screen flickers for a moment. If this was any other day I would make some funny remark or burst out laughing. Today is not like any other. Today is reaping day. Today I am going to become a tribute for the hunger games.

The screen flashes into light and is filled with an image of the Presidents face.

"Happy reapening day, Panem," He welcomes us, "As you know, I am here to state the newest rule change to the hunger games."

He smiles, evilly.

"The rule change is this;" he pauses, just to cause more fear, "For the years following this hunger games seventy-two tributes will be entered into the hunger games, Three boys and three girls from each district"

He waits a long time as panic fills the square. Children burst into tears, mothers cry out. I stand there, with the numb feeling that was inside me once I had exited the graveyard.

I have to get out of here.

I can't. I can't get out.

The perimeter of peacekeepers is almost double of what it was last year.

Okay. This is like the woods this morning. I just need to wait for the right opportunity. Let's just hope it doesn't come too late.

As a round of shouting breaks out behind me I edge forward. So I could slip behind the stage and use the back alleyways? It could work.

Some kind of fight has started. A few of the peacekeepers rush to stop it.

This is my chance.

If I'm caught, I'm caught.

No punishment they can give me is worse than the hunger games.

I sprint round, close to the stage. Nobody notices. The escort is watching the fight. So are most of the possible tributes. The victors are on the opposite side, mostly hidden by the screen.

I'm safe.

All I have to do is slip down one of the alleyways. The one that leads right through the market to the woods would be a good choice.

I'm safe.

I'm safe.

I'm…..

Not safe.

There are more peacekeepers blocking off most of the pathways.

Great.

One of them spots me, stopped dead in my tracks.

I turn.

Take off running again. Avoid punishment. Get back to the square.

But there's another one.

Right by the place I slipped through.

It's the head peacekeeper. He saw me attempting to escape.

"I worked out what you meant," I say before he can say anything, "I wanted to make an entrance."

He knows I can't escape so lets me stay where I am. But he is right behind me.

I hear the president's voice booming out, after a few moments.

"As you know, after the mockingjay rebellion double the usual amount of tributes were entered into the hunger games," he says in way of explanation, "Recently more rebellious behaviour has lead us, at the capitol, to believe more precautions need to be taken. This will be the first of many new rules and laws."

So the capitol got bored and he thought slaughtering more children would calm it down.

"Now I will hand over to your escorts so the choosing of the tributes can go on like usual,"

I hear our escort clattering to centre stage and say "Isn't this great? You will bring even more honour to your district than usual!"

I'm surprised nobody slaps her.

"Ladies first!" the escort then says, running back over to the first reapening bowl.

I find a space near the screen and prepare to climb onto the stage.

"Your first tribute is….Ebony Nelson!"

What?

I look back at the head; he has the tiger grin on his face.

I turn back to the stage and watch as the first tribute takes the stage. She's small, weak looking. She won't last ten minutes.

"Your second tribute is…Timber Andrews!"

The escort looks around, a little puzzled.

I'd run if the head peacekeeper wasn't behind me.

So I slip up onto the stage and take my place next to Ebony.

"Uh…..Timber Andrews?!"

I cough and she turns to face me.

"Yes?" she asks in her silly high pitched voice.

"I'm Timber Andrews."

"Ah," She says "You're very quiet, dear."

I raise my eyebrows, and peer over at the reapening balls. The smaller the amount of time I have to spend on this stage, the better.

She takes the hint. Sort of. She spends ages selecting the third slip.

"Your third and final female tribute is…..Daffodil Ashford!"

The crowd parts to reveal a girl who'll last even less time than Ebony. She is short and scrawny but that's not what makes her weak. She is using some type of wooden cane to move forward, one of her legs seems to be lame. There are bruises up and down one arm, so I suppose she must have been in some kind of accident in the woods.

As she shuffles forwards I can hear a few yells of anger and pity.

This is wrong.

This should not be happening.

"I volunteer!"

What? What's happening? Who said that?

I search the crowd. Who said those words?

The girl that was chosen is reluctantly shuffling back into the crowd.

Another girl is being escorted to the stage. I know her name before she says it. She's been in my form for years.

"Oh, a volunteer!" The escort says, "And what's your name?"

"Tiger-Lilly Manhattan." By the way she says it I can tell this was a last minute decision.

"Well, you're very brave dear,"

Brave or just plain stupid?

"Now onto the boys!" Our escort says, with a too-big smile as she steps over to the other side.

I watch the crowd, wondering which unlucky boys will be joining us. I pray that the three boys will be people that I don't know. People that I can just label off as unknown innocents, if I win. But I have, like my father, long stopped believing God exists. I still do it though. They'll already be one familiar face in the arena; I don't want it to be any more than that.

"Basil Ashford!"

Basil Ashford…The name doesn't ring a bell. Nor do I recognise the frail boy that makes his way to the stage. I don't miss the green that flushes over Tiger-Lilly's face. I don't understand it, though. This boy is small and weak. Not a danger. Almost as weak as Daffodil Ashford…

Siblings!

Tiger-Lilly has to have just volunteered for his sister.

Wow. These games are sicker than I thought. They almost let siblings into them together. I've never known that to happen before.

In a way, he's lucky.

But not that lucky. He is still in the hunger games.

After a few words with him, the escort pushes Basil next to Tiger-Lilly. The two exchange alarmed looks with each other but they can't do anything. They're stuck in the games.

"Hawk Sherry!"

Hawk Sherry…..Hawk Sherry?

I'm thankful the name means nothing to me. He looks a well-fed and rich. That type wouldn't mix with the poorer of us, so that's probably the reason why. The poor hate and distrust the rich; the rich simply don't care about the poor. We still all share a strong hatred of the capitol, no matter what we think of each other.

I notice a few smiles in the crowd. The poor are always pleased when a rich kid is reaped. Since the system is unfair this rarely happens, but when it does the poor rejoices.

"And, District Seven, I now present to you, your final tribute," The escort opens up the slip of paper and reads out the name,

"Skylark Marshall!"

A strong boy of about my age strides out of the crowd. He is attempting to put on a brave face, but it's not working. I can see his mother and four younger siblings crying out, the youngest keeps screaming.

It takes a moment for the name and scene I see in front of me to make sense.

Skylark, Skylark from school. He's coming into the arena. With me. And Tiger-Lilly.

It's a coincidence that three from the same form are going into the games together.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot the head peacekeeper coming to escort us to the justice building with about twenty others. Then I realize, this is not a coincidence, after all.

He made this happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tiger-Lilly Manhattan, District Seven**

"Tiger?"

My eyes dart to the door as a thin dark figure slips into the room. My mother and sister have already said goodbye, so has my best friend, Daffodil. I really was not expecting anyone else. Especially not a rebel. None of them have contacted me for months; I presumed they had packed it in. But now, today, with the new rules and open thoughts of rebellion, maybe I was wrong.

"Skye?" I say "What's going on?"

"You tell me, why'd you volunteer?" she says, pushy and to the point, as usual.

I shrug, like I don't really know.

"Listen, this is going to work to our advantage," She explains.

"What do you want me to do? Win?"

Although I told my closest friends and family I would try my best to win, I am actually disgusted at the thought of fighting, of killing.

She hands me a little package, tied with string. I shove it into my pocket without speaking.

I know what it is without her telling me.

Poison.

"If you're going to die, take them down with you." She grins at me; it's a grin I can't make myself return.

Her eyes dart to the door, and then they turn back to me.

"You will try, won't you?" Skye says.

"Of course," I say "Long live the rebellion!"

"And let the capitol burn!" Skye finishes.

My eyes peer around the room, wondering if one of the sneaky capitol cameras is hidden. It's a wasted motion; it's an impossibility to know whether a capitol camera is watching. It's a good guess to say they usually are.

"One more thing," Skye says her nervousness less obvious than mine, "Wear this, all the time, in the arena, in the capitol."

She hands me a small shining object before slipping out of the room.

I take a look at what she has handed me.

It's carefully crafted out of real gold. It's slightly smouldered around the edges. A long way from the glory of its rebellion days.

It's the mockingjay pin.

My eyes light up. This pin screams of rebellion. This was the symbol of the last rebellion and will create the next.

The capitol won't last much longer.

We will destroy them.

"Tiger-Lilly!"

I slip the pin into my pocket at the sound of her heavily accented capitol voice.

"As you know my name is Twinkle Moonfeather,"

Actually, I didn't know. I could never be bothered to remember her name. She is only the annoying escort we have to put up with once a year.

"Follow me," she continues "Today is a big day."

I notice the figures of the five other tributes, standing slightly behind her. Could any of them be a rebel, like me? Although our group is small, we don't like to let ourselves be known to the others. I only really know Skye because she is a leader. We keep our identities quiet for safety reasons, mostly. Now even in the worst possible scenario, we won't be able to give away our members identities.

None of the people that stand in front of me look like rebels.

Then again, neither do I.

Perhaps these other tributes have also have had visits from leaders like Skye. Perhaps they also have a packet of poison about their person and a symbol of rebellion that they will wear in the arena.

Perhaps not.

We all follow Moonfeather, no matter if we are rebels or peacekeeper informers.

She stops us by one of the big shiny silver capitol trains. But we can't board the train, just yet, first we have to stand around with beaming smiles as a crowd take our photographs and shout questions. It's not like this, not normally. Normally there are a few cameras and capitol people; it's normally mostly District Seven citizens. But the evil twist has caused the capitol to act as if it's a quarter quell. If I'm going to die, I'd much rather leave my home seeing the actual District Seven people rather than a bunch of scary-looking capitol people. If you can think of them as people.

I look along the row, watching how the other tributes react and wondering how I should act.

Skylark is first; he smiles at the interviewers and answers several of their questions. He's a good actor. I'll bet he'll get lots of sponsors. Ebony-is that her name? Well, she's trying her best to make them like her, but, really her acting skills are poor. She keeps giving off nervous little giggles and her smile is small and nervous. At least she gives a smile. Timber, the one next in line, is refusing to do even that. She scowls into the crowd and answers the questions as a simple yes or no. If any of them is a rebel, she is.

"Tiger-Lilly!"

I turn from the other tributes to face the caller.

I quickly plaster a fake smile on my face, just to be safe.

"Can you tell us why you volunteered, Tiger-Lilly?" A voice shouts.

"A close friend was reaped," I give a little smile.

But that's only the first question. Soon I'm being called from all sides. Some of the questions are about the possible rebellion, which I say I have no idea about. Other questions have nothing to do with us or life in seven. My actions become a robotic pattern. Turn. Smile. Answer question. Smile again. I don't think any of them notice.

By the time we board the train I am absolutely exhausted.

**Rain Anderson, District Four**

I peer around, searching for something, anything that relates these four bloodthirsty capitalized thugs to human beings. I can't find a single thing. I was brought up in the same way as them but somehow I have a different nature. I have the fighting skills of a 'career', as those in lower districts refer to us as, but I'm not really one of them. Sure I can handle a spear, a trident and various other weapons, but I'd much rather be swimming in the sea of District Four or going for a run. I'm sure I could never harm another human being, not seriously, and I could never kill one. Not even one of them.

That's my 'weakness'.

Coral knows that, I think.

I look to the evil looking blue-eyed girl across the carriage. I can find nothing that tells me she knows of this weakness. I don't need some sort of sign that she knows, though. Coral and I have been in the same year of the same training academy for five years, now. Well, we were. My father, until a few months back, had been paying the large tuition fees of the best training academy in District four. A long story short, the money ran out. Father was infuriated. I loved that day.

Coral never liked me, not over all those years while training. So, I won't be surprised if she chooses to tell the capitol about how I won't be able to kill anyone in the arena.

"The reapings have ended!" The bubbly, flamboyantly dressed escort bursts into room in excitement.

"So?" Seamus, one of the careers, answers rudely.

She appears not to notice and answers with a smile.

"So they'll be showing a repeat in about ten minutes, why don't we all watch?" We all stare at her, "Go on, check out the competition."

"What competition?" River, a cousin of Coral answers, "Sure they'll be a little in one and two, but not much we can't overcome."

"You never know," The escort says, "For instance, there were quite a few volunteers lower down, this year."

"Come on guys," Blue, the final career-girl, the one with bright blue dyed hair to match her name, exclaims, "She won't give up, so we might as well give in,"

The people in the capitol must also be deaf as well as colour blind and stupid.

I slide up closer to Hayden, the only other person in this carriage that believes the hunger games are sick and twisted, and who I have known since I moved to a normal school.

Hayden squeezes my hand comfortingly as we watch the president's announcement for the second time. I'm pretty happy none of the others notice it.

Then the reapings begin, starting with District One and working all the way down to twelve. Strong, weak, weedy, muscular. The number is completely overwhelming. I can't even keep track of half of them.

District One is totally predictable. Six muscular figures with long blonde hair and fair skin. They all volunteer, and most of them shout some nonsense about becoming victor or about how strong they are. As we watch, the others yell out offensive comments about how the tributes look and how they come across to the audience. When we get in the arena, they won't care about looks or popularity. It'll be cold blooded killing, and nothing else. They won't care about allies or enemies or whose blood is on their hands.

I will never join them.

None of the District One tributes really give much of an impression because of the sameness of them all. But I do think I can see a leader out of that pack. Or maybe two. Although one of them looks ditzy and another extremely arrogant, they are strong.

District Two are strong, too. Stronger than us, according to hunger-games records, they've won two more games than us. But we've won more than one. The first girl to step forward shoves over another to get to the stage. Olympia Deane, she announces as her name. I'll remember it for the rest of my short life, as she says it in a mocking capitol tone. We all laugh, apart from our escort, who seems a little moody. Olympia could be a rebel, if there actually are any, or she could have just wanted a laugh. The other two girls don't make much of an impression on me, apart from the fact one of them has raven - wing coloured hair. The first boy, Blade, seems a little different from the regular District Two tributes.

"What did that kid volunteer for?" Blue says "He's tiny."

"Looks strong to me," I mutter.

"Like you'd know!" Coral fires back.

"So he might not be huge, but I bet he'll be good with knifes." I say.

It's much louder than when I first defended him, but Coral and the others pretend not to hear me, like they're adsorbed in the end of the District Two reapening. They can think of nothing else to say.

So I do the same. We sit watching the District Three reaping, saying nothing. The first girl brakes down in tears right on stage. That's when they start talking again. Or, rather, they start jeering and laughing at the poor girl. The second surprises us all by yelling out the words that seem unknown in District Three but are famous in our own. She volunteers. When she comes out of the crowd, she's not the eighteen year old we were all expecting; the girl must be thirteen at the oldest. She looks quite weedy, if I'm honest.

"What an idiot," River says "She should have waited a couple of years at least."

"She must be one of those secretly trained other district kids," Blue says.

The third girl is crying just like the first. The two embrace each other as they meet on stage. Sisters? Friends? Lovers?

The boys don't cry, but they don't look very well. They are all the typical District Three stereotype. Smart-looking, glasses, black hair, a book tucked under one arm. It'll be hard to tell them apart.

Then it's us. I watch as Blue and Coral volunteer. My own look of shock as they call out my name. Seamus and River yelling out and pushing to the stage arrogantly. Hayden trying not to do anything stupid as he walks to the stage.

"There have been a few mixed reactions to your reapings," Our escort calls "Since not all of you volunteered they'll be wondering what's going on."

She goes on for a while, so I zone out, as best I can and try to watch the District five reaping.

I don't pick up much, through the escorts jabbering and the careers grumbling that we should stop watching as there will be no more possible victors. One of the girls makes an incredible fuss. It turns out she's the mayors daughter, but that's just about all I pick up.

By the time District Six rolls around, most of the careers have cleared off to their private carriages, and the escort has run off to talk to the mentors, so I get to watch in peace and quiet. One of the girls, Alia, uses a cane to tap her way to the stage. She's blind as a bat, the poor girl. The second girl to be chosen stands out from all the others in their finery, as she is wearing simple work overalls, stained with some sort of oil. Since I won't be teaming up with the careers, she seems to be a likely ally. The final girl and the first boy both walk to the stage with the screams of younger siblings following after. I understand a little, how they must be feeling. I have a younger sibling, myself. Waterfall. She isn't a career, either.

The District seven tributes are as normal, to start with. They are strong, or a little stronger than the other tributes, at least. Since they work with axes, they generally seem stronger. They don't have many victors though. The second girl seems to know it is coming, as she wanders on, casually, from the back of the stage. Coral, the only career remaining seated to watch, doesn't seem to notice. She notices the third female tribute, though. Tiger-Lilly. She volunteers herself for the games in place of a crippled girl.

"That's more like it!" Coral grins, "She'll join us,"

I don't mention that she might not want to.

Coral seems uninterested by the next two tributes, two young-looking boys, one who looks sick, the other trying to look strong.

"He'll be in our pack, too," She exclaims as the third boy takes to the stage. If I were to make a pack, I'd choose him. Strong from all the axe-work, and tall. But he is no career. His brave face is an act, a good act, but an act all the same. I notice he hugs a small girl, on his way up. His little sister, perhaps?

District Eight are normally the total opposite from District Seven. Pale from all the hours inside, Crippled from the factory work, sickly because of the urban district. Five of the tributes are like this. They all also have some of the common traits of poor district people, such as the hollow eyes and skinny forms that mean they are starving. They are all pretty well-dressed, especially in comparison to the others, but I suppose they would be, considering they create most of the clothes. The sixth tribute, Finn Townsend, is nothing like the others. He seems well fed, and has a slight tan that makes the others look ghostly.

"I reckon he could join us, too."

He probably will. I don't know what it is, but something makes my brain link him to all the other careers. That something wasn't present when Coral pointed out the others.

District Nine are just like usual.

"Total weaklings," Coral announces once they are all on stage, "Like always. We'll kill them off in a day."

They aren't always weak. One of the District Nine tributes, a few years back, was brutal. He got hold of a sickle at the cornucopia and killed at least eight people. All of the District Two tributes, included in the mix. He later claimed, once he was a victor, that a tribute from two had killed his big sister.

I try reminding Coral, but she just tells me to shut up.

The only tribute that sticks out for me is a boy that attempts to plead with the escort. Not even everyone in the capitol is heartless, as a look of pain crosses her face as the boy explains that he is about to get married. He is still reaped, but nobody on screen seems happy about it, including the commentators. That could just be an act, though. It's what we refer to as the 'Johanna Mason technique' in District four. I'm not sure why. Johanna Mason must have been the first tribute to do something like that.

District Ten are the same as nine. They don't win, much. That's why I'm surprised when I hear Coral shout out in glee.

"He's joining us! He is _so_ joining us!"

"What? Why?" I say.

Yes, the boy is slightly muscular, but so have a few of the other tributes been, and she has said nothing.

"He has blood on his boots, look."

After taking a look at the reddish brown stain, I say, uncertainly, "That could be anything."

"It's blood." Coral says "I should know."

That's true. The amount of times coral has got in trouble for fighting….its happened so much I couldn't count them all. And most of those times, blood has been spilt, and often it's not her own.

"Well….." I say, "….He probably works killing animals."

"He won't find it hard killing tributes, then,"

Our conversation patters out, and we sit in silence.

It doesn't last long. Soon, Coral is complaining about how weak and easy-to-kill the tributes from eleven are.

The first girl is small and agile-looking. Although she looks half-starved, I've seen worse tributes. The second is tall but, again, half starved. Like a piece of seaweed, can be torn apart with the smallest movement. Although bigger, she seems worse off than the first. The third girl seems to be between the two. Not too small, not too tall. The main difference being, she has a bit of weight. She's not huge, but she has been fed well. Perhaps she is richer than the others? Two of the boys look as tall and strong as some of our own tributes, but Coral says nothing.

When I question her about it she says, smugly,

"Didn't you listen in the academy?" She says "Eleven and twelve will always say no. That's why we always kill them in the cornucopia."

The third boy is young, possibly the youngest tribute in the games this year. Although he has to be at least twelve, in any other circumstance I would guess it to be about nine.

"District Twelve, the weakest of them all," Coral announces as the reaping starts.

I hate it, but she's right.

The six tributes are all skeleton thin. One of the girls holds a traditional wedding veil in her hand, One of the boy's volunteers to be with his little sister, A twelve year old takes the stage with tears in his eyes, A tall boy puts his arm around the girl with the veil as she cry's into his shoulder, The last girl falls as she walks to the stage. But these are the only tiny details that escape into my thoughts.

In a few weeks all but one of these people is going to be dead.

Coral walks out of the room as the program is drawn to a close. Knowing her, she'll probably be plotting the gory deaths of those we have seen. I turn to Hayden, realizing he hasn't spoken a word since the reaping repeat started. In fact he hasn't said a thing since we met up before the reaping.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He says nothing.

"Sorry…..stupid question….."

"It's okay," he says, but I'm not convinced.

"It's not." I correct him, "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Will you promise me something?" He says, "Will you promise me you'll stay you. That you won't go all bloodthirsty and want revenge,"

"I'll try," I say, quietly.

"And if you win….." He continues.

"I won't."

"If," He repeats, "Remember me, how I am. Don't think of me as…..how the capitol shows me."

"Of course," I say, with a slight smile. He doesn't smile back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thistle Cooper, District Twelve**

"Bracken! I can't believe you did that!" I shout at my older brother in the empty train carriage, "Why the hell did you volunteer?"

"Thistle, please, calm down..." He says it in a weak voice.

But I don't. I don't calm down. I continue shouting and screaming about the odds, and how the odds were bad enough when I was reaped. Him volunteering just made the whole thing a lot worse. I mean, what kind of weakling does he think I am? I can look after myself. I don't need him coming into the arena. And how does he expect us both to win? At least one of us is going to die. They won't allow two victors, especially since they know about the rebellion.

I stop, breathing deeply. I glair at my brother. Then I can see the pain in his grey seam eyes.

Perhaps I shouldn't have yelled. I never expected him take it to heart. I really just expected him to yell back.

I speak again, this time calmer, "Bracken..."

I'm about to say I'm sorry. That I didn't mean it. Tell him how grateful I am that he has volunteered to protect me.

But he's not listening, he's talking.

"Do you remember when mother died?" he asks.

"A little..."

Why is he talking about mother at a time like this? We haven't spoken of mother for so many years. I was young when she died and he was not much older so I don't remember her well. And I don't think he can, either.

"Do you remember what she told us?"

Oh, that. Of course I remember. I could never forget. How could I forget my own mothers last wish?

"To keep the faith up...not to let the rebellion fail," I say before adding "And both of us coming has destroyed that. How do we destroy the capitol if we are in their games? If you had-"

"That's not all mother said, " Bracken says, interrupting me "she told me to look after you. Always."

At the word 'always' he brings out a golden locket from under his shirt. Engraved into the surface is the legendary mockingjay image.

I recognise it at once as the locket Peeta Melark wore in the 75th hunger games arena.

"Where did you get it?" I say, my voice quiet and in awe.

"That doesn't matter," he says, with a small smile "What does matter is that this will help the rebellion."

He's right. And this time we will arise victorious. It will be the end of the blood lust, the end of the capitols reign of horror, the end of their sadistic games.

The capitol will become ashes. Just like we were after the last rebellion.

For the first time since I was reaped, we share a smile.

**Timber Andrews, District Seven**

I sit alone, peering out of the train window. Smashed pieces of china plates and what I hope are expensive vases are scattered all around me. Now, the anger is out of me. I sit here replaying the words I shouted at the head peacekeeper over and over. Words of defiance, words of rebellion, words of anger. Words that told him I had given up hope. Words that told him I am as broken as everything which is scattered around me, right now. Words I should have never said.

A light tapping comes from the door, and I follow my first instinct to ignore it.

Whoever it is seems to know that would be my response, as the door opens.

"Hi," I say to the intruder, Skylark, a little awkwardly, attempting to ignore the shards of china that lay all around me. Its practically impossible as the shards are everywhere.

"Hi...Timber," Skylark says, taking in the room, then he gives me the message he came to give, "Shade said we have an hour before we get to the capitol. He wants all of us to go into the lounge carriage."

"Sure," I say.

Well, sitting about here for an hour won't help me, will it?

Besides, this place is depressing.

Skylark leads me to a large room. My eyes immediately flash over to the left where our escort is sitting in her brightly coloured outfit.

"Hello Timber," A bright female voice calls. I turn to a large table containing both of our mentors, and the four other tributes. Cinnamon smiles, but its not a real smile. Her eyes don't light up and she still looks a little sad. She must be trying to convince me that it will all be alright. Well, its never been 'alright', not in Panem. Even so, I don't tell her.

I smile back as I sit down, but my smile is a fake smile, too.

"We arrive in the capitol in under an hour," Shade starts, "But before that happens, we need to know your strengths and weaknesses."

"Why don't you start?" Cinnamon asks, sending her fake smile towards Tiger,"What are you good at?"

"Well..." Tiger thinks for a moment before giving her answer, "I can Throw axes and climb... but we all can."

"How good are you?" Shade asks.

"She's one of the best in our class," Skylark says.

I find myself nodding, "And she can beat most of the class in distance races, too."

"Those are good qualities for the games, " Shade tells us.

"They can't be that good," I mutter under my breath, "If they were we'd have more victors,"

"What was that?" Shade asks, turning to me.

"Nothing..." I say. Thankfully, he says no more on the matter.

We continue round the table, finding out all of the strengths. Ebony turns out to be a healer, Basil tells us of his climbing skills, Skylark says his skills are about the same as Tigers, apart from his climbing skills are worse, Hawk shares his knowledge of birds and animals.

"A bit of this and a bit of that," I say, once its my turn.

"That's a little vague," Cinnamon says before explaining my chances would be larger if I got a little help.

"Fine, I'm...Stealthy," I say.

Yes, stealthy, that's a good word. Shows who I am and what I do but doesn't. Leaves an air of mystery around me.

"Another good characteristic for the games," Shade tells me, before going onto weaknesses.

Tiger stays quiet. So do all the other tributes.

"I don't think anyone wants to share," I say, "Its one thing telling the enemy what our strengths are but telling the weak points...not a chance!"

The others quickly back me up and we move on to the next matter. How we are going to act when we arrive in the capitol.

"If you want all the advantages you can get, first impressions count," Shade tells us.

But now I've stopped listening and started looking out of the window. The capitol is getting closer.

I take in the scenery. Its so different from the forest landscape that is the norm back home. The buildings are pastel coloured, and so are the people that walk through the streets. These people start to yell out as they spot us arriving. The screaming becomes even louder as the train stops and the doors open.

While the others are preparing to leave the train my eyes are glued on another focus point. Behind all of the capitol citizens, partially hidden by a banner. A dark alley that looks like is the home of many dodgy deals. Right in the mouth of the alley is a bedraggled man. So different from the screaming people that surround us. It looks like people suffer, even at the top.

"Come on, Timber," I vaguely here someone call. I make my eyes turn to the crowd as we step onto the platform.

But my eyes don't stay on the crowd.

We edge our way through the crowd, peacekeepers holding back the mob.

Generally, I don't like peacekeepers. Actually, I downright hate them. However, today I am thankful for their presence because they are preventing me from being crushed to death.

Still, soon they'll be enjoying our deaths rather than preventing them.

Its worse going up the red carpeted steps. Actually, why are these steps red carpeted? Let me guess...to represent the blood we will soon be spilling? How typical of the capitol.

Arms grab out at us, trying to shove past the peacekeepers and the sound is almost deafening. Along with the excitable screams and warbling chatter there is a chant echoing through the area. A chant of "District Seven, District Seven!" I guess they're just excited about how bloody our deaths will be. Yes, that'll be it. I mean, we're District Seven, its not like they expect us to win.

As we stand at the top of the steps waiting for an idiotic photographer to stop messing about with his camera I let my eyes drift back to the little alley. The man is still there, but the scene is different. Before, it seemed like he was begging for money. Now he is faced up to a peacekeeper. They seem to be talking. Arguing. The mans cold blue eyes link with mine for a second, if that. Then the peacekeeper pulls out his gun.

I want to shout, scream, do anything to stop what both the man and myself know will happen. But I can't. I stay still, unable to do anything but watch.

I watch a moment of pain cross the mans face.

I watch the blood seeping out of his head as his lifeless form falls to the ground.

I watch a stream of blood slide down his face and into the cracks of the cobblestone.

I watch the peacekeeper walk away as if nothing happened.

And then I continue watching the man. Nobody goes to him. I doubt anybody else even saw it. I doubt, even if the gunshot had been heard over the din, anybody would helped him. These people were too busy cheering for people that will be corpses in just over a week to notice an actual murder.

"Timber, he's finished. We can go in now," At Tiger's call I try to come out of my trance and arrange my features into a natural expression, for I'm sure I must have some sort of horrified look on my face.

I'm not quick enough, though, for Tiger notices my previous viewpoint.

"Oh my God..." She says in a hushed voice.

But that's all she gets to say before we are pushed through the doors of the remake centre and the man taken from our sight.

Shade starts explaining how its all going to work, but I'm not listening.

I can't get the image of that man out of my head. Not the way he fell, or the moment he was shot. The moment the gun was put to his head. The look he gave me. The look that called for help. And I couldn't do a thing. Or could I...?

I feel myself being shoved down a corridor by an odd trio of people that look like they have been coloured-in by a young child. The one to my front, a woman, wears a bizarre multi-coloured dress with a towering pink wig whilst the other two seem the total opposite to each other. One of them is a stick-thin lady with bright red skin and skimpy clothes and hair that blends into her skin. The man is huge, with pale blue skin and tattoos all over his body his white hair is puffy like a cloud. The way they act seem different as well. The former has a severe look to her face whilst the latter has a happy, bubbly mood.

We arrive in a clean white room after only a few moments of walking.

One of them hands me a robe and asks me to change.

But I don't. I watch them.

The first one, pink wig, seems to be pouring an array of dangerous-looking chemicals into three different bathtubs. Well, I wont be stepping into one of those. Cloud hair is assembling an array of what look like torcher weapons on the table. Red-lady is doing something with a large looking needle.

I open up my hand and let the robe float to the floor.

I won't allow them to do this. I'll end up looking like a capitalized freak. Perhaps one of those bathtubs will turn my skin magenta. Perhaps one of those torcher weapons will be used to sever one of my limbs or tattoo my skin or implant a third eye or give me cat ears. I've seen all that and worse in the past few moments. Perhaps that needle will be used to sedate me so I don't know what's happening.

I cant help it, but now I think I'm hyperventilating.

So I do what I always do when I am faced with extreme danger.

I run away.

**Brooklyn Silk, District Eight**

I'm plain. I've always been plain.

But here, I'm in a whole other league of plain. Even the prettiest girl, back home, the one with vibrant ginger hair and bright green eyes, would look plain here.

And I feel ugly.

I look at myself in the mirror that stretches across one whole wall. I look at my pudgy tummy, my hairless legs that are pale and spotty, my eyes that are so dull I look like I'm already dead. I can't look at my hair, my lank muddy-brown hair, because my prep-team have, for some reason, wrapped it up in the towel.

What they have done to supposedly make me look beautiful makes no difference. The make-up plastered all over my face has barely changed a thing, the pale pink nail-varnish looks ugly on my stubby finger-nails. They better have worked a miracle on my hair, or else I'm doomed.

I don't just feel ugly, I am ugly.

"Brooklyn, darling!"

Oh, great, another one.

This one looks slightly better off than the others. She is thin, but not overly skinny. Her lips are red, but not in a ridiculous way. Her clothes aren't as ridiculous as most capitol clothes come, they seem like a rich district citizens clothes with a capitalistic twist. I look closely at her eyes, they are probably contact lenses, but they are still a beautiful blue. Her skin is not dyed though her hair is a bright orange, but she looks kind-of pretty. I wish I looked like her. If I was half as pretty as her the sponsors would be queuing up to sponsor me.

"I'm your stylist, Fabricia," She says, "But they call me the miracle worker, here." then she lowers her voice a little and continues with "And that's pretty lucky for you,"

It takes all my resources not to burst into tears. Sure, I know I'm ugly, but hearing it from someone else's lips is even more painful.

How could she say such a thing? Oh, wait, she's from the capitol.

"Now, close your eyes," She says in her normal voice, which I will nickname 'painful shriek'.

Even so, I do what she says. Its probably a good idea I don't look at myself even more.

The soft silk fabric slides over my skin. I feel her removing the towel from my head and a comb going through it as she rearranges pieces of it. Quite a big part of it seems to be draped over my face, that must be a good thing.

"Open!" she commands.

So I slide my eyelids open, preparing myself for the worst.

But I don't get the worst, I get the best. The best surprise I've had in a long time.

The dress is simple, not wacky and colourful as I had feared. Its just a simple white dress. Quite like the one the presidents daughter wore for her wedding a couple of months back. My hair is the part that stands out, though. Instead of the brown mop that usually sits there. I have gorgeous hair. Its got beautiful style and volume. And its not brown anymore, it is a wonderful multi-coloured pastel mixture.

"Wow..." I say in a hushed voice, " This is...this is so..."

"Yeah, I know, " Fabricia says in a slightly disappointed voice, "I knew you'd be a hopeless case. Even the Miracle worker couldn't do a thing. Still, if you win you'll be allowed to get so much plastic surgery nobody will even recognise you."

I look at her, wondering if that was sarcasm or if she really meant it. You can't really tell because of her capitol voice. I think she was serious. I mean, thinking back to past games interviews, the capitol don't really understand sarcasm.

And If I win? Yeah, like I'm going to win. There's no way I'm going to win.

* * *

**A/N: **

**So I just wanted to know if there are any POVs you wanted me to do. I mentioned quite a few tributes in the last chapter and I wondered if there were any other people you wanted to hear from. In the next chapter I am thinking of doing a POV from a few capitol people. And for those who are wondering why Timber was featured again the answer is: the whole story was meant to be from her POV but I realized that would get dull. The next chapter will, for certain, include the POV of at least one boy since I haven't included one yet. If you suggest one I will probably do it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Carter Fox, District Six**

I let my eyes drift around the hall, taking in everything.

Most of the tributes are here, and standing around with only their districts, either chatting quietly or saying nothing at all. I just stand, partially hidden by the chariot, watching it all. The rest of my district are still in remake, so I have nothing else to do.

The only tributes that don't follow this rule are the careers. They crowd in a big bundle, just in front of the gates. They talk in loud voices. I suppose this is them trying to attempt to intimidate the rest of us. By the looks of things, its working. The nearest tributes, District Three, look absolutely petrified.

Well, most of them. While five of the tributes are chatting together, the sixth is standing apart. The sixth is Electra, the thirteen year old that surprised the country by volunteering. I thought, perhaps, she had volunteered for a friend. But, no. She watches the careers with a sense of longing in her eyes. She watches every movement the careers make, and listens in on every word. I make a mental note to myself not to trust her.

My eyes almost glide past the pair of tributes at the district four chariots.

What's this? A pair of non-careers in District Four? That's interesting, very interesting. I expected to see a team of careers much more dangerous than the years before. And if two careers have left the career pack- and one of those pretty strong, by the looks of it- well, that can only be a good thing, can't it?

I then look to the chariots directly in front of ours, District Five, I look especially closely at the six of them because I picked up next to nothing watching the reaping's. The snobbish girl, who I remember to be the mayor's daughter, has her nose in the air and is not speaking to any of the others. The others seem nice enough, though. They even seem like likely allies. Though I wont say anything just yet. I wouldn't feel as comfortable allied with someone who can shoot an arrow or throw an axe.

My eyes take a brief glance at our chariot because a couple of the tributes have returned neither of the tributes are the ones I'd strike up a conversation with, so its a very brief glance. The first of these tributes is Alia Hill, the blind girl. Don't get me wrong; I have nothing against her. Only, I had a very heated argument with her father a couple of days back. I said a few things I wish I hadn't said. The other District Six tribute that has arrived is a quiet sullen boy called Lock. He's barely said two words since we boarded the tribute train, so I highly doubt he'd reply if I took the trouble to speak to him.

District seven are having an argument. Or, rather, the escort is yelling at one of the tributes and the tributes (Including said tribute) just seem to be looking at the escort like she's gone mad. Said tribute, she just seems to be laughing. The District Seven mentors turn up a moment later. They don't look pleased with her either. I wonder what she did.

District Eight are all solitary. Some sitting up on the chariots, some with eyes darting all around. No matter on the way they sit or stand, no matter on their posture. None of them interact with each other. Even when the sixth member of eight arrives, they still stay solitary and unspeaking.

Two members of District Nine are standing just as quietly as those in eight. Its not until I look to ten that I realize where the missing tributes from nine have gone. So nine and ten have an alliance sorted out already. What I find weird is they look as if they know each matter, that alliance wont be too dangerous. The alliance that scares me is right at the other side of the hall. The career alliance. This nine and ten alliance isn't a lets-kill-the-careers alliance, is it? in my experience of watching the games, that plan is a bad idea. A _really_ bad idea. I shiver, remembering the alliance that tried to do that last year. I hope for that alliances sake they wont try to take on the careers.

District Eleven don't seem to be joining the alliance, they seem to be chatting together like friends. Just friends talking in the playground before school, not tributes that will probably be battering each other to death in a matter of days. If you ask me, its creepy the way that they smile and laugh with their enemies.

"Checking out the enemy?" A voice calls as I start looking at twelve.

"Yes," I say vaguely.

God, its no use, I can barely see them from this distance, and I have pretty good eyesight.

"I hate to break it to you, mate," The person continues, "But you are looking the wrong way. The Enemy is that way,"

I follow Willows finger as it leads back to the careers.

"I can't believe they made us wear this!" I glance to the other chariot and realize all three of the other tributes have returned from remake.

"But you went to the reaping in your work clothes," I say to the speaker, Galaxy, with a little bemusement in my voice.

"This place is meant to be a fashionable place." Galaxy says "And I've already told you why I was wearing my overalls."

Brandon looks around the place in disgust, "We're not the worst off."

Willow immediately agrees, "Look at them...and them."

I soon find myself laughing with the others about the crazy fashion here. Laughing with the enemy? Perhaps district eleven aren't as mad as I thought. or perhaps the capitols madness is catching.

**Damocles Ambrose, The Capitol**

"When do the opening ceremonies start, Damocles?" My seven year old sister, Panayota, whines.

"Ten minutes," I say.

"Ten minutes!" she exclaims, "But that's ages away. Ages and ages and ages and..."

I already know this is going to be the longest ten minutes of my life.

She turns back to her friends and they start giggling and chatting loudly.

"Will you shut up?" I ask, hoping I wont lose my temper too much early on, "I am trying to watch this, you know."

"But this is the boring talky-talky bit. The interesting bit wont happen for ages!" She says.

I ignore her and try to watch the screen. These games are going to be amazing. Imagine it! Seventy-two tributes. This is going to be epic. And I don't want to miss a bit, even the 'boring talky-talky bits'. Actually, I enjoy the commentary, and, In the future, when my children and grandchildren ask about the legendary 169th games I'll want to tell them everything. I'd hate to have to say 'sorry! I missed that because my sister was being annoying!'

"LETS PLAY THE HUNGER GAMES GAME!" Athena, one of Panayota's friends, suddenly yells.

"There really is no point because..."

They completely ignore me.

I watch them collect an array of different objects in a pile and start arguing about who is who.

"I'm a career!"

"No you are not! You are far too weedy to be a career."

"You were the career last time, its my turn!"

"I've never been a career before! It should be my turn!"

"It is not,"

"Well, I can't be District Seven, I forgot my plastic axe."

"You'd be lucky if you got District Twelve!"

"Damocles!" Suddenly my sister is yelling right in my ear, "Why don't they have a victors game?"

"What?"

"Why don't they have a game with all the victors in it?" She says "Like Ocean and Oni and Pandora and..."

"They did, once," I say, interrupting.

"Why don't they have another?" she whines.

"Because it went wrong," I say, wondering how many times she's going to use the word 'why'.

"Why? What happened?" Another of her friends breaks into our conversation.

"Because it upset the Districts,"

"So?" Panayota quizzes "Its only the districts. Who cares about them?"

"They started a rebellion," I explain, trying to remember what the teacher said in history class, "They broke out of the arena and tried to kill our president."

"And our army crushed them," Athena says.

"Yeah,"

They stay quiet for a moment as if they are thinking about something. Oh, well. At least they have finally shut up.

"Damocles!" Panayota calls, just as I'm getting used to the quiet.

I'm expecting a serious well thought out question.

"Will you do your Titus Flickerman impression?"

They all start clamouring for me to do the impression. I mean, its not even a good impression. Abe, one of my mates at school, he can do great impersonations. Not just Titus Flickerman, loads of people. Tributes, Stylists, escorts, victors, even the president.

"Oh, look, the opening ceremony is about to start!" I say, just to make them shut up.

Thankfully, Titus Flickerman announces we will be seeing the tributes in one minute. If I'm right, this last minute will last forever.

Why did dad refuse to let me go watch the opening ceremony with the others?

**Electra Kipling, District Three**

I look down at my costume, again, as we step on to the chariot. I can tell it wont get me any favour in the capitol or get me noticed by the careers. The latter wont matter too much, since they should have noticed my brave and daring volunteer at the reaping yesterday. And if that bypassed them, I can easily show them my deadly power in training. But getting favour in the capitol, that could be a problem. It could even blow my get-with-the-careers plan out of the water.

"One minute to ceremonies!" A robotic sounding voice bursts out, destroying what little noise we were making, and forcing those who have not already stepped onto the chariots to do so "Please be sure to keep your feet firmly on the chariot and..."

Several other safety announcements are shouted, but I don't really listen to them. What? I'm no idiot. What type of person would throw themselves from the chariot, anyway?

I almost squeal with excitement as the large brown gate swings open, and the screaming capitalizes are revealed.

The first District One chariot rolls out. Those girls are lucky. They get to wear gorgeous dresses made entirely out of precious stones. I try to distinguish them from each other, but its impossible, since they all look so similar. The name that seems to be yelled by the crowd is 'Emerald' though I'm not sure which one she is.

The District One boys made a bigger impression on me, just as they did when I watched the reapings. Two of the boys, Courage and Treasure, seem to be fooling about and laughing while the third stands away from them. The crowd seem to enjoy the banter and focus on those two, completely ignoring the third boy.

The District Two girls aren't as lucky as one, but they still wear beautifully crafted gladiator costumes. Two of them go for the same approach as the boys before, but drastically fail. The third girl, Olympia, seems to be the star of District Two. even once the District Two boys are out I still hear a deafening call of her name. I Guess they must have forgotten the way she mocked them in her reaping.

The District Two boys are barely seen by the capitol, although I can see a couple of them waving.

I take a deep breath as our own chariot passes the doors, and the crowds roar becomes just that bit louder.

A smile comes to my lips as I see the crowd jumping up and down and cheering. Cheering for us. For me.

"Tye! Hey, Tye!"

"Mackenzie! Mackenzie! Over here!"

I feel my face change from smile to frown when I realize the cheering and yelling is not directed at me.

They don't care about the youngest volunteer from District Three, or perhaps even ever. I'm the first we've had for thirty years, and all they care about is the two lovebirds standing next to me.

Idiots! Don't they realize those two will be dead within an hour of the games at the most?

And have they forgotten that the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve caused a rebellion?

Tye and Mackenzie start kissing, and the crowd goes wild. Wilder, sorry.

I have a good mind to shove them off the chariot.

**Gladius Bard, The Capitol**

"It makes me sick!" I grab the remote from Regan's hand and press the off button, "Fattening them up and treating them well before the sacrificing them."

"If it were just a punishment they'd just murder them, not let the tributes live well first." Regan agrees.

"And its twenty-four more of them, this year," I rant on, "Like this'll kill the rebellion, our rebels will keep fighting no matter what."

"There are rebels in the districts?" Our newest member Abe quizzes with a slight frown, "I thought it was just us,"

"We've got at least a small rebel unit in each district, now," Cassia says, from the window,"We were going to get more members before making it public, then this happened."

I feel a swell of pride when Cassia mentions our large membership. I'm really proud of that, we all are. I'm less proud when she mentions the capitol possibly finding out.

"Yeah...about that...how did they find out?" Regan asks.

"We don't know they do," I say, "This could just be because the rest of the capitol are bored,"

We all become quiet as three quick knocks rap on the door, and a thin woman with dark hair slips in.

"Juno?" I speak to her, for her expression is worried, "What happened?"

"Its bad news...bad news..." Juno has always been a little crazy but the fear in her eyes isn't normally there. Something bad happened to her on the field, once, and she never recovered from it.

Regan wraps an arm around Juno and asks for the story.

"Arrian... watching tributes...peacekeeper come..." Juno starts sobbing uncontrollably, and cannot speak for a moment, "Gun...Arrian..." the sobs prevent her from speaking anymore. At those two words we all understand what has happened. Arrian is dead.

"We can't let this go on," Cassia says, "We need to do something. We can't just..." She trails off, not knowing what else to say.

"She's right," Abe agrees.

They all turn to me, expecting me to have a plan in my head. But I don't, I really don't.

Before I can even begin to digest all I have just found out, and think up a suitable plan of action there comes another knock at the door.

"That'll be Gaius," Regan states blankly.

She's right, it turns out. Gaius slips in with a nervous expression on his face.

"Its bad news, I'm afraid," He says.

"Yes, we know," I tell him.

"Oh?" His face wrinkles into a frown, "Did Skye phone you? She hung up on me pretty quickly,"

"Skye?" now its my turn to frown in confusion as he names one of the rebel leaders in District Seven, "What does she have to do with it?"

"There's more bad news?" Gaius says, "Which district?"

"You first," Cassia says quickly, "I thought practically half of seven was involved. They even got a rebel elected as mayor, didn't they?"

"Skye told me that one of the rebels was reaped," Gaius tells us, "The rebel was sent with the mockingjay pin,"

"So the districts intend to make the rebellion public?" Abe quizzes.

"That's what it looks like, " Gaius gives in answer, "But I've also had reports of rebels being reaped in Four, Five, Six, Nine and Twelve. None proven as yet."

"That seems too many to be a coincidence." I muse aloud.

"My thoughts exactly," Gaius states.

Then I feel the cogs in my brain moving that indicates I am thinking up some sort of plan.

"You keep working on that," I say, "We need to know the exact amount of rebels in the games."

Gaius nods, before taking out our illegally owned laptop and tapping out on what looks like random keys to me but must be some type of complex code to him.

"Cassia, Regan," I turn to the girls, "Are you still planning on going in undercover as film crews?"

"Yeah," Regan says with a small nod of the head.

"Good, we need someone on the inside," I say.

"And me?" Abe questions.

"District Two," I say "We've got a guy on the inside as a peacekeeper, but we might need another. I still don't trust Two.

Then I turn to the two silent figures that stand behind us.

"Are you two okay with going into the training centre, as usual?" I ask.

The taller of the two avoxes, Latina, takes out a notebook and pen, scribbles the words down:

_It'll be hard but everything is hard for us avoxes. I am willing to do whatever it takes to destroy the capitol. Only, make sure one of us gets seven._

I read the note aloud, and watch the other avox, Tobias, nod his head to agree.

"Our plan is to continue as normal?" Cassia asks, she was probably expecting something a lot better.

"Yes," I say, "We can't let this stop us. we have to keep going."

"I just thought you'd want us to go bigger. They did something big, we do something big," Cassia shares her view.

"I don't think we are quite powerful enough to do that, just yet," Gaius says, briefly looking up from the laptop.

"You think there's an inside man," Regan says.

"Yes," There's no point denying it.

"They'd have to be pretty powerful," Gaius says, "Perhaps from a district, since they know who the members are. I only know the leaders,"

"And they knew Arrian was a rebel, too," Abe points out, "Why else would they kill him?"

I look to Juno, wondering if she heard, but she seems to be adsorbed in something inside here head. She is totally ignoring us.

We go on to discuss many other topics. The successful blackout in District Three, The large rise of rebels in District Ten, The poisoning of several peacekeepers in Two and Seven, The vandalism of the capitol clothing factory in eight. If you discounted the new hunger games rules, you would say our side is doing well. Winning, even.

Then we get more bad news.

"It's worse than I thought," Gaius is saying, as he shuts down the computer, "These are the names of the rebels that will be in the hunger games..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ocean Spirit, District Four (mentor)**

I should have told her, I should have stopped her.

I must be a crap friend; Putting Blue through the same things I went through. Hell, some would call it. Personally, I think my time in the arena was so much worse. True, I couldn't stop her from volunteering, but I didn't have to put in that good word for her at the academy. I suppose, I didn't want to shatter her childhood dreams. Now I've risked her life, or at least her sanity. Nobody leaves the arena the person they entered it as. I've as good as murdered my best friend.

Oh, God, help me.

As I watch the tributes talk, I remember me, last year. I was a tribute. Only, that Ocean Spirit isn't the person I am now. I was naïve, I was still a child. And during that month in the arena and those after, I have gained wisdom and courage. I have done things I was not courageous enough and wise enough to do.

There are two differences between me and the tributes this year. Difference one, I was not bloodthirsty, and knew I would lose. Its a miracle I won. In the eyes of the capitol, I was extremely lucky. I'm not so sure. Barely any of the other victors are not lost to drink or drugs. Difference two, the amount of tributes were twenty-four less. I'm debating this, at the moment. I'm guessing one of the rebels got careless and was caught. Or perhaps I am underestimating the evil of the capitol...

I take my mind back to just before last years reaping_: _I was so happy then. Happy, carefree, naïve.

_"Where are you going?" Salacia, my big sister, asks as I slip downstairs in my reaping outfit: a sea-green dress with sea-shells embroidered around the edges._

_I don't bother answering; she knows where I'm headed._

_"Can you just help me with the stock, first?" she says reasonably "God knows where Neptune is." Salacia runs a sea-shell necklace company that is quite popular amongst the rich residents. Neptune is my older brother and her twin. He barely does any work. _

_So I help her stack the boxes of stock onto the old pony trap before rushing on my way. It's difficult stacking boxes with only one arm. I don't know why she bothers, with the business anyway, nobody will buy anything today. They'll all be at home preparing for the worst. Or the best, in some cases. I do know why she bothers, she wants us to live better, and she wants us to be richer. She wants to stop the suffering. I should go help her like I do some days. But there are others I love, other people to say goodbye to, just in case._

_We meet on the beach. Not the ugly grey pebble beach that the victors ride past on the victory tour each year, that's nearest the town square, this one is quite beautiful. The waves are a luscious blue, the sand is golden. The sun seems to shine just that bit brighter here. We should be heading to the square, but it's our tradition to meet here._

_I can't go in the sea, but that doesn't matter; I don't need to feel the waves rushing about me to see the beauty. I know under that beauty there is danger. We all just sit, staring at its magnificent beauty. I shiver a little, remembering._

_"Are you okay, Ocean?" Blue asks, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. Louise huddles up to me as it becomes cold._

_"Fine…just remembering," I say. They understand._

_We don't speak again until the fourth member of our party arrives. Seal. He is covered from head to foot in splodges of what looks like tar. He wears his oldest clothes. I can hear his well-earned money jangling in a pocket. _

_"Oil spill on the other beach," He explains before slumping down beside us._

_"Only you would get a job like that on reaping day," Blue says with a little laugh "Aren't you going to get changed? When I go to the capitol I want to look n-"_

_"Nice, yes, we know." Seal says, in a snappy, angered voice "That's why you spray your hair blue."_

_"No, I spray my hair blue because I want to make a statement." She answers._

_No matter where we meet, no matter what day of the week it is, they always seem to end up fighting about something. Normally the hunger games. Blue has been trained up like a proper career since she was about three. Seal despises the games. He has never entered the training centre in his life. He is also the poorest of us all, but he doesn't volunteer for money or riches. He gets money through hard work. He often states he'd rather die in the hunger games then come out a victor._

_"Shut up," Louise says "Just don't fight today, alright?" They both shut their mouths and forget whatever insults they were about to fire at each other. Although only seven years old, they both listen. She's the only one of us that doesn't have to worry about the reaping. Well, I expect she'll worry about us._

_"How many times?" Louise then asks._

_Blue clears her throat, "Three." Blue is rich. She lives in one of the big houses in the hills. That's the only reason her name is entered in so few times. Seal and I both take out Tessare._

_I lick my lips nervously before replying, "Twenty-two."_

_Seal doesn't answer._

_"Seal?" Blue asks._

_"Fifty-one." He says after a sizeable pause._

_He refuses to let his family take out tessare. His two little brothers and sister. And those cousins of his, he insists on looking out for them all, and that includes giving them tessare when they need it. He only takes out tessare when he really needs it, he mostly works hard, but some months there are no jobs and he is forced to take out tessare. This is more often than he likes to say._

_"We should get back," Blue says, trying to smother the silence. "My father will go mad if I'm late again."_

_We were late last year. I don't want to go through that experience again. So we all reluctantly agree to leave the one last beautiful place in district four. The square is a long way off._

_We sign into the square and slip through the barrier of peacekeepers just as the mayor starts his speech. We all split up, I get lost in a crowd of other sixteen-year-olds, blue slips in a few sections back, Louise finds Salacia in the ring of families and they stand together with fear in their eyes, and seal is just across from me, in the boys section. Blue is a few sections back, in the fourteen-year-old section, but I can still see her lips moving silently to complete the speech. We all know it off by heart; it's been the same every year since I can remember._

_The next part is the same too. The escort, fresh from the capitol marches into the centre and babbles on a bit about how the odds are not in our favour. Or something like that. I wouldn't know, I can barely understand what she says._

_"Ladies first!" she exclaims, swishing her way over to the bowl. Her pale fingers swirl up the papers before she selects one._

_"Ocean Spirit!"_

_My name sounds wrong in her tones._

_I walk up to the stage as quickly as I can, my one remaining hand reaching to touch the shark tooth that hangs from my neck like I do whenever I am nervous._

_I clamber up to the stage, taking in the crowd of gawping people. Usually, at a moment like this the square would be teeming with waving hands and shouts wanting to be chosen. Instead I am met with the stillness of the square and silence._

_I take in the crowd, tears slide down Salacia's face as she holds onto the screaming figure of Louise. Although they are far away I can see the redness of her skin and the hot tears that stream down her face. Seal is a statue, his hands clenched into fists but he can do nothing. Blue's face is angered. Her mouth is twitching slightly, her hand shaking. She plans on volunteering. My eyes connect with hers. I shake my head firmly._

_Blue...don't do it. Blue, please don't do this._

_It's too late, anyway. Our escort is selecting the second female._

_"Wave Headly,"_

_"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" And she's not the only one there are a load of waving hands and yelling voices._

_Now we get volunteers? Is the whole district against me? Do they all want me to die? They must._

_The volunteer proudly walks to the stage before introducing herself as "Kendria Saunders,"_

_Then our escort moves onto the boys. Oh, God, don't let it be Seal._

_"S-"_

_"I volunteer!" A deep voice from the male section yells._

_I take in the figure of him, a big monster of a guy._

_I don't stand a chance._

_When I see the fourth tribute, I almost faint with fear._

The two other tributes entering the room disturbs my flashback. As I expected, they sit as far from the other four as humanly possible without leaving the room. These two are different. Unlike the other tributes that we have had or are likely to ever get. The girl, Rain, is pretty similar to how I was, last year. Knows her weapons and how to use them, but wont use them. Wont even dream of killing. The boy, Hayden, just comes off as weak. Like he doesn't care if he wins or loses. Like he knows the latter is going to happen in the arena. Just like a lower district citizen.

Hayden isn't really weak, that's just a act. But he's not the type that will do that before turning out to be a deadly killer. He's no Johanna Mason. He probably would be a deadly killer, if he wanted it. But he doesn't. in a way, he is a pacifist.

Then I notice the ring of gold around his wrist. Even here, I can see the flame design. He catches my eye, and I glair at him until he slides down his sleeve to hide this piece of jewellery. How could he be so careless? If the capitol found out he was a rebel, it would be a whole lot worse for him. He needs to get in to the arena before starting his most rebellious acts. And if they found out about me...I don't even want to think about it.

I'm such a coward.

I almost wish Seal had never got me involved. Then, I think again, of all that happened to me in the arena, all the capitol have made me suffer through and I just want all this injustice to end.

**Blade Scott, District Two**

Todays the day.

I made my impression to the victors in training and when I volunteered. I made my impression to the capitalizes yesterday, when we held the opening ceremonies. Today, I impress the other districts. I show my extreme skill to the other careers, and scare the lower districts with my extreme power. Maybe I gave them some sort of impression before today, but that doesn't make today any less important.

Today is going to be a good day. A fun day.

And my mentor told me today is important. According to him, my height puts me at a disadvantage. apparently it will make the other careers mark me off as an easy kill, and might even make them kick me out. But if I prove my power, they'll choose someone else; A snobby girl from one, and outer district person that is unusually strong, someone that did something wrong, got on the wrong side of the wrong person.

District Two are amongst the first to arrive. I really don't understand why the head trainer wont let us get hold of some of these weapons. I find myself longingly looking towards the throwing-knife station. The training academy back home is nothing like this. Out of the weapons, there are plenty that I have never seen in my whole life. And I've been wielding these things since I was five years old.

As soon as the head trainer releases us, I'm going for those ones. The set right in the centre, those knifes seem to look right. I can see them in my hands, striking victim after victim. I can't wait for the hunger games to really start.

The rest of the tributes arrive, and the head trainer welcomes us properly. I don't really listen, of course. Why should I? I've trained for this my entire life, all I need to do is impress the other tributes. And the gamemakers, of course. Though, I'll really get to show off in the private sessions.

The second the head trainer stops prattling about the importance of survival skills and releases us, I shoot of to grab the knifes.

"I told you so!" I hear one girl shout to another as my first knife whizzes through the air and plummets straight in to the heart. But I don't stop, I continue until my hands are empty of knifes, and the training dummies have the blades sticking out of them. I collect them up again, and fire them into the dummies over and over. The rest of my Pack seem to be doing the same sort of thing with their own specialty weapons. Nobody seems to be paying any attention to me, not even the gamemakers.

"Blade!" I turn to face the caller, who turns out to be Coral, one of the girls from four.

"Yeah?" I say.

"Me and the rest of the pack are talking wannabe careers, you coming?" She says.

"Course," I give as my short answer, before following coral to the axe station where all the others are.

"Who do you reckon?" Courage, who we established as our leader asks, "I'm thinking the boy from seven, Skylark?"

_Him!?" _Coral says, "No way is he career material!"

"We will need more though," Olympia, our second in command, argues, "We've lost two tributes from four, we'll need a couple to replace them,"

"That's true, " Starr, from one, muses.

I don't trust that girl, she seems too smart to be from one.

We continue rejecting possible replacement careers until a voice interrupts.

"Oi! Move out of my way!"

Did that kid just say that? She can't have just said that to us. How is she not completely afraid of us? Where did she get the guts to come over here and start yelling at us?

"Can't you see we're trying to have a conversation, here?" Emerald says snobbishly.

"Can't you see I'm trying to train, here?" The girl says, imitating Emerald, ever so slightly. Then she shoves past us, and spends way too long, trying to choose an axe.

"Bet she wont even be able to lift it, let alone chuck it," Emerald says, sourly.

Typical District One stupidity. The number on her back is a seven, Seven is lumber, and most lumberjacks are going to be able to chuck an axe.

The girl lifts the largest axe, and steps into place. From many years of training, I can tell, her stance is perfect. She swings back her arm, and swoops it forward, letting the axe go. Bull's-eye! Although we are obviously to be enemies, I want to congratulate her. She barged into our pack and really showed us what she can do. Besides, now she's the enemy, my height wont mean anything. The focus is on her, not me.

"Not bad," I find myself saying, "For District Seven, of course,"

"Yeah," River Immediately backs me up, " Any one of us could do a lot better,"

"What is a 'lot better' than that?" She says, raising one eyebrow, "That was perfect, I highly doubt a few peacekeepers in training, several fisherman and a couple of spoiled brats could do much better,"

"Look, I've trained my whole life doing stuff like this," I say, "All of us have,"

"And you think I haven't?" She fires back, "You ain't the only careers in the games,"

We all have to laugh at this.

"You have to be kidding!" Starr giggles, "You're from District Seven, for Gods sake!"

"And look at you!" Destiny breaks in, "You are so skinny. Careers have muscles, you're as thin as a stick,"

"Looks can be deceiving," The girl says, smartly, "For instance, Why have you let him join?"

Damn it! 'Him' is me.

"He ain't much bigger than me," She continues, "And all he can do is chuck a couple of knifes! What kind of skill is that?"

"So? All you can do is chuck axes! What kind of a skill is that?" I say, mockingly.

That's got her. She'll run off and not come back for the whole session. She wont be able to argue her way out of this one.

"Ohhhhhhh touché," She says in an even more mocking voice, "We should have a fight, proves who's the strongest."

That really throws me. She wants to fight me? She wants to chuck away every ounce of dignity she has left? Wow.

"What?" I find my bemusement speaking out.

"I said, fight me," She says, with a little smile on her lips.

"That's against the-" I try to say it in a calm voice, but she just cuts in over me.

"That's what I thought!" The girl taunts, "You're scared!"

The rest of the career pack start shouting out, too. But they don't take my side, they take hers. Sort of. They start saying that I'm a wimp, that I probably would be beaten by her. I wish I could somehow get them back on my side, but that's not likely to happen.

With all the words spinning around me, and an angry red blur all around, I punch out, unable to see my target.

My fist hits something hard, that's most certainly not her. Then I get my vision back. The first thing I see is her grinning face.

And I immediately hit out, again. This time, my fist slams into her face, flooring her.

I think that's the end of it, until her fist comes plummeting into my chest. I stumble back, in shock, but I don't hit the ground.

We continue our fight, for a few more minutes. I notice that the whole hall seems to be watching. I'd better win this thing fast, they'll be calling the peacekeepers soon. Maybe not, the head gamemaker seems quite interested in our duel.

Suddenly, she has a new motivation, and her punches become more deadly. I try to dodge as many as I can, but quite a few seem to be direct hits. I somehow manage to grab a handful of her hair, and shove her to the ground. I execute a couple of well aimed punches, just for the hell of it. She is unmoving, but still conscious. Nice one!

"I win," I say, simply, before turning back to the other careers, "So, where were we?"

A bloodcurdling cry echoes through the hall, before something knocks me to the ground.

I can feel my pulse beating in my head as a hand grabs my shoulder, and turns me to face them. Its _her, _the girl from seven. I'm not winning now. Not now she has me pinned down.

"No, I win," She corrects me.

We stay stock still, for a moment. I half expect her to start beating my head in, but she just looks at me.

"Do I look like a career now?" Its not a question, its a statement.

She brings out a knife from her sleeve, one from the set I used earlier, and lazily twiddles it about in her fingers. I hope that's just for effect, I hope she wont use it.

"Shall we test me out?" She asks, "Tell me, since you're a career, what do careers do best?"

I don't say anything.

"They kill!" she replies to herself evilly.

She raises the knife way above her head, and holds it there for a second.

She's going to kill me. She is going to kill me.

Just then, a bunch of peacekeepers come bursting in.

"Bloody peacekeepers!" She yells, "Always spoiling my fun."

She darts across the gym, to one of those wimpy survival stations, before the peacekeepers can do anything about it.

"Nice one, Blade!" Olympia says sarcastically, "That's really made us look strong,"

* * *

**A/N: The next two or three chapters are going to be dedicated to training. I'm going to have a POV for every district, if I can. As always, If you want me to show the POV of anyone, just say.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Breeze Lynch, District Five**

"Come on, Breeze, lets try out the Snare station!"

Why was I the one to be lumbered with her? By her, I mean Cleo Pyleeth, the very bratty, very spoilt mayors daughter. If its not her way, its nothing. She forces me to go someplace I don't want to be, then, just as I've started enjoying myself, she yells that we have to go somewhere else. I'm no good at being bitchy and mean, and I'm rubbish at saying no. I guess that's why I'm with her rather than Finch, the third girl from District Five who ran for it, along with the three boys, as soon as she got her chance. I wish I'd taken mine.

Its a complete nightmare.

Still, the snare station sounds interesting. Something I might be good at, at least. I've done a few similar things before. Plus, in District Five, Intelligence is important, especially to the poor. Just like District Three, we work on new inventions that could save lives...or take them. The main difference between us, and District Three, is what they do, is out in the open and for the capitol. What we do, is underground and very much against the capitol.

We work on complex new computer codes and systems, we work on new miniscule (but powerful) bombs that could be hidden in capitol trains, we work on new types of poison that have no taste or smell. However, our unit is small, and secret, and we have barely any money to fund it. This fact, along with us having to work between shifts for the capitol is the main reason the capitol are still as strong as they are. If our lot could even start on mutations, the capitol would be long gone. If I actually, against all the odds, managed to win this thing, the capitol wouldn't last to hold another hunger games. Still, that's unlikely to happen, no matter how much I want it to. No, not I, us, the whole of the rebel movement.

Yes, we are rebels, but our rebellious acts are barely noticeable compared to the other Districts. We don't care about that, or, at least, I don't. All I care about is bringing the capitol down. Gaius, my contact from the capitol rebels,has informed me the rest of panem is doing quite well. Blackouts, vandals, poisoning and a whole array of other rebellious acts. But our inventions keep the others going. What would the rebels do without our undetectable laptops and phones? What would they do without our ever-growing supply of brand new poisons? We are yet to give our bombs a proper try, and I probably wont be alive to see the effects, but if all goes to plan...well, this is going to be big. Really big. Bigger than anything we have ever done before. No, not just District Five, the rebel movement all together. Who cares that District Seven poisoned their old mayor and got a rebel in charge? Who cares that District Eight trashed a factory or two? Who cares that District Three managed a blackout? Who cares that District Ten decided to set free a quarter of their livestock? Who cares about any of that when District Five are going to blow up half of the capitol. Well, that's my dream, anyhow. Not that I'll be alive to see it come true.

I find, that I can automatically recreate one of the snares that we use to protect our rebel base, back home, although setting and inventing snares isn't normally what I do. I normally work on the explosives but Its good, I know its good. Not as good as the ones we actually use back home, not as neat, not as strong but I can use it.

"That snare looks pretty good," Its the girl from six, the one who was reaped in her overalls.

"Thank you," I say, smiling at her.

So far, this girl from six is the nicest person I have met since coming here. Its a shame, really, that we'll be murdering each other in an arena in less than a week. Well, if I come across her in the arena, I wont kill her, it will be my last act of rebellion.

"You tested it yet?" She asks, a hand gesturing towards my snare.

"Just about to," I say, jumping up to fetch a training dummy.

When I fling the dummy into the centre of the snare, the ropes tug it up from the ground, suspending it from a nearby hanging branch. One...Two...Three. Exactly to the second, three knifes that I pinched from the throwing knife station go firing into what would be the vital organs.

"Wow," The girl from six is in awe.

Something tells me she wasn't expecting it to be that good.

I go back to making another snare, and she goes off to another station. Our old snares weren't as good as the current one-the one I just created- but the others could still be useful in the arena. Sage, our snare/booby trap maker, is a genius. Some are so complex, I wont be able to remake them. I'll only be able to set simpler ones in the arena. I suppose if I can get my hands on some rope, wire and a handful of knifes in the cornucopia, I'll be alright.

"Breeze, that is your name, isn't it?" The girl from six is back, and interrupting my train of thought, but this time she has Rain the girl from four, who quit the career alliance and one of the girls from eleven with her.

"Yes," I say, a little confused

"Well, we want you to join our alliance," Rain says, "You seem great with snares, and that's something we really want on our side,"

I look back towards Cleo, who, until now, I had completely forgotten about.

"She can join too," The girl from eleven says unsurely.I don't blame her, Cleo is sitting there, drumming a couple of twigs on the ground with a ditzy expression on her face. And what she did at the reapening? That's enough to know that she is weak and will probably die on the first day.

"No," I shake my head, and they look disappointed until I continue with, "No, she_ really_ can't join, I can though,"

Thankfully, Cleo seems deaf to my words.

"Just so you know," The girl from six says, "I'm Galaxy, that's Rain and this is Angel,"

"Cool," I say.

Then, we just walk away. To be honest, I don't care where we are going, as long as we get away from Cleo.

** Gold Stuart, District One**

"I think we should ask her," Treasure says as we dump our lunch onto the table and start to eat.

"Ask who what?" Opal says before I can.

"Weren't you listening?" Treasure says in an irritated voice, "I said, We should ask Timber, that girl from seven, the one that beat up Blade to join the alliance,"

What an idiot. There is no way we'll follow his plan. He hasn't got a hope in hell to get us all to agree.

"What, then kill her as soon as the games start?" Blade says, hopefully.

Now, that's a good idea. I know I could never trust her in the arena. Well, I know I could never trust any lower district person. The amount of times one of them has betrayed the alliance in the past is so many I could never count them all. Us killing and betraying her on the other hand...that sounds fun. And she deserves it for beating up Blade and making us all look weak.

"No!" Treasure says, "I reckon she should join, for real. We do need a couple more tributes,"

"That's true," Coral from four says, "Rain and Hayden have made it pretty clear they wont be joining us,"

No! She'll end up killing us all in our sleep. How would that make me look on live television? Imagine actually being killed in the games, especially by a girl from District Seven. It would be a complete embarrassment. The district would completely ignore my parents and my siblings would be refused places in the hunger games because of me.

"I'm saying yes," Olympia says with a small nod.

"Yeah, lets go ask her now," Starr agrees.

"Yeah, if we all surround her, and she wont be able to say no," Opal says.

Am I the only one that thinks this is a _really_ bad idea? No, Blade is hating this idea as much as me. And, come to think of it, Danger doesn't look too happy about it, either. Everyone else seems to like it, though.

"When she kills us in our sleep, don't blame me," I say, and Blade looks pretty pleased that I've put up a fight.

"You're being ridiculous!" Olympia says, but a little more unsure than she was before, "She's not going to kill us in our sleep. How could she? We'll be ready,"

"Blade wont be, remember what happened earlier," Danger points out.

"Hey!" Blade protests, "That was a one time thing. I just underestimated her, that's all. Its not like it'll happen again!"

"Well," Olympia concludes, "If it wont happen again, we have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Lets go ask her now," River says, "Before we go back to training,"

Again, we get a load of positive responses. All Blade, Danger and I can do is follow and frown. If we did anything else, we'd end up being kicked out of the alliance. All of us, for our own separate reasons need to be in this alliance. Besides, if the alliance split, outer districts would stand too much of a chance in the arena. Way too much of a chance.

We surround her, the girl from seven. She's sat alone, on top of one of the smaller tables. As we surround her, she makes no move. She doesn't run off, she doesn't hit out. Although I detest her, I have to admit, this is brave. It's odd, that she ignores us and even more odd that she is not intimidated by us.

She cracks her knuckles as we form a pack around her.

"Here for round two, Blade?" She says, jumping off the table so she is standing directly in front of him.

"I'm not here to fight you," Blade says smoothly, "None of us are,"

She looks surprised at this, but after a moment she speaks again, "So, what do you want?"

She stands right in front of Courage, our leader, and crosses her arms.

But she expects a fight, I can tell. She is on her toes, alert and ready for the first punch.

"We want to know if you'll join our alliance," Courage says bluntly.

Strangely, she seems unsurprised and unimpressed by this request.

Say no. Come on, Timber, you don't _really _want to be in the career alliance. Just say no so we can kill you in the cornucopia and get it over with. Say no. You _have_ to say no.

She thinks it over for a minute, her eyes darting about, taking in our expressions. She must be weighing up her options, working out her odds. Wondering if we'll kill her at the bloodbath or if this alliance deal is the real thing.

She sticks out an arm, just before saying the words, "Alright, I'll join,"

Courage grabs hold of her hand and shakes it firmly.

"Lets go back to training," Blue says, before the awkward silence can start.

"Good plan," I say before leading the way back into the gym.

Looks like a couple of others got the same idea first. The first is a boy, from eight. He's in the Trident area, and he seems pretty skilled at it. Okay, so he's not as good as some of the others in the pack, but he's hitting bull's-eye almost every time. And if he can chuck a trident like that I bet he'll be able to chuck a spear and maybe some throwing knifes, too. The second person is from three; She's the thirteen year old that volunteered. Her weapon is the pick, and she is currently battling a trainer with one. So she might be small, I grant you that, but she is agile and powerful. She's the scariest thirteen year old I know. That really is saying something, considering what some of the thirteen year olds in our training academy are like.

"I think we just found the next members of our alliance," Blade says.

"Yeah," Timber agrees, "Both of them are powerful,"

After a moment of discussion, Destiny heads off to talk to the boy, Finn, and Starr to ask the girl, who's name is Elektra. Whilst they go to gather allies, the rest of us head to our specialist weapon stations. Normally, I would head off to the Spear station, but I'm almost as good with axes. So I join Timber at the axe station, just to prove to the rest of the alliance that we don't need her, and a better plan would be to kill her in the bloodbath.

**Ruth Wentworth, District Ten**

Sunrise and I became allies pretty quickly. We both established, early on, that we wouldn't stand a chance in the arena but we would both, quite literally, die trying. We both know when and when not to take risks, we both come from the poorer districts that everyone underestimates, we both have families back home that we couldn't bare leaving behind and we have both, so far, been too afraid to cross the border between the safe survival stations and the considerably more dangerous, career-tribute infested combat section. Pathetic, I know. Its not just us, though, most of the other tributes have chosen to steer clear from those stations, too. I guess the career tributes are just too intimidating for any of us to get too close.

However, one combat station, the one right on the end, is constantly empty. None of the careers have gone anywhere near it, since we entered the training hall this morning. Nobody else seems to notice it.

"Where are we going now?" Sunrise asks as we test the snare we have been working on for the past hour or so. The snare works pretty well, but its nothing compared to the girl from five that was here before lunch. Her snare was amazing. We did consider asking her to be another ally, but the anti-careers got there first.

"Combat," I say, preparing to persuade Sunrise.

"What? I thought we had an understanding!" Sunrise says in a confused way, that I was expecting, "The careers will kill us if we go over there,"

"They haven't killed the anti-careers or any of the others that have tried combat," I point out, "Besides, its a death match, we'll have to do some combat sooner or later. And i'm saying sooner so we can survive it when we have to fight later,"

She just nods, but I know I have persuaded her.

We move quickly to the selected station, the crossbow station. I have realized that the crossbow isn't usually in the arena, but if one of us tributes turns out to be good at it, the gamemakers are more than likely to make an exception. But only if they think we will survive. Which we will have to prove in our private training sessions. The bad news is, I still don't know how either of us are going to do that. And if we can't do that? Well, there's always a throwing knife, and any idiot can chuck one of those things.

The trainer seems pleased that we have decided to try out his station. I'm not surprised, as for the whole day he has just been standing there, doing nothing.

"Welcome to the crossbow station," The trainer says in a happy-go-lucky way that reminds me of my brother, "My name is Achaz, shall we get started?"

"Sunrise Madison, District Eleven," Sunrise introduces herself, warming to the capitol man immediately.

"Ruth Wentworth, District Ten," I say in a much moodier way, "And yes, lets get started,"

Achaz flashes a smile and begins to show us how this thing is done. Considering neither of us have even seen a crossbow before today, we both do pretty well. Nothing to the careers standard, but still pretty amazing.

Achaz explains the way we are supposed to stand, the 'stance', and gives us a couple of demonstrations. Then he hands us each a crossbow and helps us fire the first arrow. Mine wizzes past the head, and sunrise manages to lodge hers into the leg. Achaz smiles and helps us fire the second, giving us tips and tricks about the aim. The second aims are a little better than the first, with mine in the arm and Sunrise's in the stomach. We get better and better with every shoot, I don't know how long it's been, but we hit the vital targets almost every time. Soon, the crossbow station is full of other tributes clamouring to have a go. Its not that we are incredibly good, its because they need to learn how to use a weapon, and this is the quickest way without the careers being involved.

However, if the careers decided to have a bit of crossbow practise, I know most of these tributes would run. I wouldn't, though, because the crossbow is in my hands. And if it comes to it, I will shoot them. All of them.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, slight change of plan. I won't be able to get all the districts in. So, the next chapter will be the last for training. There will probably be three POVs. Around 3,000 words, as usual. Any preferences?**

**And thank you to the reviewers; I love hearing what you all think!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Latina, The Capitol**

I stand to attention, by her bedside, awaiting her arrival. She should be here in a minute, the girl from seven, the rebel. The one with the famed mockingjay pin. Tiger-Lilly Manhattan, or that's the name Gaius told me, anyway.

The door swings open, and there she is.

The girl looks at me nervously, as she walks closer. If I was wearing that expression I would be running away, not creeping closer. That's probably just me, and all the horrors I've been through.

"Hello..." She says, a little unsurely.

My eyes lock onto the famous mockingjay pin, I just can't help it. That pin has so many legends associated with it. Unfortunately, she notices and becomes even more nervous.

"Uhhh...that's a family heirloom..." She stutters out, more scared than before, "So...can I help you?"

In answer, I shake my head and rip out a note sheet from my pocket notebook and hand it to her.

After reading it, her eyes become wide, the leaf of paper falling from her hand and onto the ground. If she looked nervous before, I don't know how to describe the look she gives right now.

"Who told you that?" She mutters in a quiet, afraid voice, "Who told you? How do you know. Its not true, I promise you its not true,"

She seems a bit cowardly for a rebel, but I suppose she thinks this is a message from the gamemakers or something. I suppose she thinks she'll be killed even before the game begins. That wont happen, we'll make sure of that. We've managed to get our rebels into almost every occupation in the capitol, we even have a couple of rebels around the gamemakers table. That wasn't easy, I can assure you, the security checks of the gamemakers has tripled in size since we got a rebel elected as head gamemaker. Okay, so that was almost a centaury ago, at the time of Katniss Everdeen, but it's still a big achievement nonetheless.

I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wishing I could tell her all this, but she just flinches away.

I bring out my notebook and scribble a second note. This time, she stays calm, but still addresses me with an air of suspicion.

"How do I know I can trust you?" She says "Prove it to me that you're..." She pauses for a moment, her eyes darting around the room, searching for one of those impossible to spot security cameras "...one of us,"

_The capitol took everything from me, _I write, _My home, my friends, my family, my job, my voice, my life, my freedom. They made me a slave, and I did nothing wrong. Who's side do you think I'm on? The side that took everything from me that I ever loved and more? Or the side that could give it all back and give me justice for what they did? _

"Sorry," She says, after reading the note, "Its just...I was warned not to trust anyone,"

I nod, simply. I understand. Plus, I'm used to it. Folk don't tend to trust us avoxes.

"So, did you bring information, or instructions?" She says, "Did they say I was to try to win?"

By the way she says it, I know she is repulsed by the idea, so I quickly shake my head.

"Thank God!" She lets out a sigh of relief, and then continues with "So what is it?"

I hand her the list Gaius gave me, the list of all the rebel tributes.

"What is it?" She asks in a bemused way.

In response, I point to a small sentence at the end of the page: _All of the tributes that are known to be rebels._

A look of pure horror comes to her face, and she whispers out the words: "All of them? Are you sure? They're all like us?"

I nod, solemnly, figuring out the fact that the capitol could already know about the rebels has probably just dawned on her.

"Do they all know?" Tiger-Lilly asks, a moment of silence later.

I nod, again, knowing that the rebels either know or are being told now by my younger brother.

"What am I supposed to do," She asks.

I shrug, giving her yet another note that I have quickly scribbled in a few seconds.

_I don't know. My job was to tell you, and that is all. I will let you know if I am told any more. _

"Thank you," she says with a little smile, "And, for the future, good luck,"

I return her smile, before collecting up the scattered note sheets so I can dispose of them properly. The last thing we need is cold hard evidence that this meeting has just taken place. The security cameras wont matter because we have one of our people in the security office.

Then I walk casually back to my avox work, as if nothing has happened.

**Ebony Nelson, District Seven**

"So, let me get this straight," Shade, the other mentor says from the far side of the room. He is looking Timber right in the eyes as he says it, and the rest of us tributes quiet our talking, "You decided to join the career pack despite my direct instructions not to under any circumstances?"

They look quite alike, as they sit face to face, their expressions mirroring each others.

Timber waits a moment before giving a short reply of "Yes,"

It wasn't the answer Shade expected or wanted, we all know that, including Timber.

"Tell me, Timber, why did you do that?" From the way he said that, he's getting really annoyed, and will probably snap in a few minutes. Or less.

For a moment, I think she'll say 'because I felt like it,' or something along those lines, but she leaves a gap of silence before giving her reply, which is the truth. Well, partially. She does leave out quite a big chunk of the day, and just cuts to the part when the careers asked her.

"If a bunch of careers surrounded you and demanded you join them, you'd say yes, wouldn't you?" She says, attempting to explain, "I mean, it was a life or death situation. You saw, right Tiger?"

Tiger mumbles 'yeah' in an unconvincing way. I wonder what's up with her, that vague reply seems nothing like the Tiger I've got to know over the past couple of days. I suppose the games must be getting to her. Yeah, that'll be it. The games are really getting to me, so its probably the same for her. That also explains the distant mood she's been in since last night.

Shade frowns at her words, knowing there is more, "Why would th-"

"Look, Shade, I've got a plan," Her words cut right over his.

"And are you going to tell me this plan of yours?" Shade says almost immediately, in a really patronizing voice. Presumably, he thinks Timber has no plan. Truthfully, I agree with him. This 'plan' thing is just away to buy some time so she can think up an excuse.

"No," She gives as a response, which surprises neither myself nor Shade.

"Why not?" Shade says.

"Because my plan is told on a need to know basis, and you _really _don't need to know," Timber says, somewhat smugly.

"So, you have no plan?" Basil says, rolling his eyes.

"Stay out of this, its none of your business," Timber says, her voice rising.

"Look," Shade says calmly, "The bottom line is: I am you mentor so, therefore, if you _do _have a plan, I need to know it. I need to know your strategy."

"No, you really don't!" Timber yells, slamming out of the room.

But that doesn't help her. Running away never does. The thing is, Shade still wants to know the truth, and he decides to ask us.

"Okay," He starts, "Which one of you is going to tell me what happened? I'm no fool, I know there's more to it than what Timber said. Come on, tell me, what happened?"

We stay quiet, sharing awkward glances with each other, not wanting to betray Timber, but not wanting to deceive Shade. Basil opens his mouth, and closes it again. For some reason, he and Timber don't get on. However, he still says nothing.

"Look, it would be better if I knew sooner," Shade says, attempting to convince us to take his side, "I mean, I could get Timber out of this alliance and, dependant on the reason, it could get you a hell of a lot more sponsors."

I glance at Basil, I know he is at least thinking about telling Shade.

"For goodness sake!" The voice calls from the other side of the table, and right out of the mouth I least expected it to, Tiger's, "Timber got into a fight with one of the boys from District Two, the small one,"

"What?" Shade says, "They'll kill her if she stays in that alliance!"

I glair at Tiger, wondering why she did that. Has she decided to start her game plan now? Or is she worried about Timbers wellbeing, just like shade?

**Angel Clarke, District Eleven**

"I just can't get the hang of this!" I laugh, as I fail to set another snare. It might seem odd to the other tributes that I keep bursting into laughter, but I'm a happy person, and even in the most dire, tragic, saddening moments, I have this urge to burst into laughter.

I didn't laugh at the reaping, and I'm pretty sure I wont once the blood starts to flow.

My alliance have grown used to my sudden bursts of laughter. However, I'm sure they are only so casual about it because they think my laughter is because I am so nervous, and I am a little shy. They could be slightly right.

"Lets try tree climbing!" Rain announces "There's sure to be trees in the arena, so it'd be a useful skill to have,"

She's probably right. About the arena, I mean. In all the games I have seen there has been at least a clump of trees. Besides, Rain has already told us of the horrific time she endured at the training academies. They were actually forced to watch clips of the games throughout the week, and watched one whole games each Wednesday. Complete torcher are the only words to sum up that in. Rain is right about tree climbing being a useful skill, too. Not only have I watched several games where tributes have escaped from career tributes or mutts by climbing trees, but I also work in the orchard, back home, and have experienced many of the ways trees can be of use. The others, although they all live in very urban districts, seem to agree with Rain.

When we arrive at the climbing station, there is only one other person there. I know from watching the reaping's that her name is Tiger-Lilly, and she's from district seven, which is probably why she's at the climbing station. She's playing to her strengths.

As we start to hall on the heavy climbing gear, Tiger-Lilly swings down a few branches and calls out to us.

"If you reckon you'll get that stuff in the arena, you're delusional,"

She's right. I don't need this. Never have, never will. I tear the cumbersome equipment from my frame, and clamber up the first few branches so I am level with her.

"Race you to the top?" I say, a smile springing to my lips.

"You're on," Tiger-Lilly says with a nod.

Then we start this mad competition, scuttling up the tree, passing the branches quicker than I've ever climbed before, hooting with laughter, we start swinging madly from the topmost branch when we arrive there. I don't think either of us bothered to work out which of us was the winner. No matter, I don't care. Tiger-Lilly seems to be of a similar nature to me, loves a laugh and knows what she's good at and does it. If Rain hadn't approached me whilst I was at the archery station, and asked me to join, I would probably stick to the stations I am good at. In fact, if I hadn't seen how deadly Breezes snares are, know how accurate Galaxy is with throwing knifes and metal darts and seen Rains deadly power with both the trident and the mace I would consider blowing them off and joining Tiger-Lilly.

"I'd better get back to my alliance," I say to her, awkwardly, before I start to act on these ideas.

"Okay," She replies, but when I start to descend back through the branches, I notice Tiger-Lilly follows.

"I didn't know you were so good at climbing, Angel," Galaxy says as my feet hit the floor, "I'm so bad at it,"

"I've been climbing my whole life," I reply, "I'm sure you'll pick it up in a while,"

I say it only to be kind. Honestly, she is rubbish. She can barely climb two branches, and she's not the only one. Breeze is hardly doing much better. Rain is halfway up the model tree, but is moving at such a slow pace that anyone could hit her.

It takes them half an hour to realize that no matter how hard they try, they wont get much better. I just sit, watching their many failures, and chatting to Tiger-Lilly (or Tiger, as she likes to be called). Its a relief to know I can do at least a few things that my alliance are bad at. I don't want to sound inhumane and career-like, but I am pretty happy that I'll have a few advantages once the gong rings out.

"This is Tiger," I introduce her to the alliance.

"Tiger-Lilly Manhattan?" Breeze says, sharing a glance with Galaxy, who after a moment, turns back to face Tiger.

"Breeze Lynch and Galaxy Willis?" Tiger says, surprisingly, as I haven't shared the names of those in the alliance with her.

Tiger looks at them, as if she wants to ask a million questions but can't so long as I'm around.

"Do you want to join the alliance, Tiger?" Galaxy says, without asking us others for our opinions. Thankfully, both Rain and Breeze agree with this decision.

"Yes," Tiger says simply, as if she knew this would happen.

**Danger Loire, District Two**

"Are there any more threats- _minor _threats- for the arena?" Olympia asks.

We are crowded around the axe station, talking about our enemies. We do this every evening, about an hour before we knock off and head back to our district floors.

"No," Blue says, "None of them measure up to us."

"Actually, yes," I say, stepping away from the rest of them.

"Who?" Coral asks, "And if its Rain's pathetic little alliance, you need glasses,"

"Its not them," I say, a mysterious smile on my face.

"Then _who _is it?" Olympia speaks again, impatiently. She is clearly wondering if I'm speaking the truth.

"Me," I say, taking a larger step back as they look at me. Confusion sweeps over the pack, along with a little bit of anger and hatred, "I'm leaving the alliance," I then continue with, "This alliance is filled with phony careers and weaklings. You replaced a fully trained career with a thirteen year old, for goodness sake. Only one replacement was a good choice. One!"

Timber steps forward, an axe in her hand. But before she can let it go plummeting into me, Olympia is pushing her back.

"Then we will kill you," Olympia says, coldly.

"Well, I'm with you, Danger," Finn, the only good replacement, steps from the crowd, just as we planned earlier.

"You're pathetic," Coral says, "It's still you two against all of us. It wont be hard to guess who'll win,"

Her words don't matter, as a figure moves towards us. _Make that three._

We stand, slightly apart from them, our arms folded. This isn't over. We'll get a much larger alliance.

"What you say is true," Gold says, joining our line, "I can't be part of an alliance I can't trust,"

Starr and Opal exchange a look, before quietly joining up with us. This is great, our numbers are really rising, now.

Seamus is the next to move. Its a surprise, really. I wasn't expecting anyone from four to join. Coral seems equally surprised, as she calls out,

"Seamus! Why did you do that? I thought we were mates,"

"I've never liked you, Coral," He says, smugly.

Its the best answer he could have possibly given.

"And I'm tired of always being overshadowed by you!" Destiny calls out from the crowd, looking straight into the eyes of Olympia, before crossing to our side.

Then Tempest makes his move, crossing to join us. He gives no words of explanation, but we are still glad of the numbers. We are pretty equally matched, now, the two teams. The two career packs.

"Fine, leave," Courage finally speaks, "You are no longer welcome here, got it?"

"We got it," I say, turning to leave. The rest of the my pack follows, as I lead them to the empty knot-tying station.

"So, what's the plan?" Destiny asks.

Damn! I hadn't thought that far ahead. Not even that can throw me, not when I'm in such a good mood.

"What do you mean, 'what's the plan?'" I ask scornfully, before giving an answer, "The plan is, just like any other career plan, only better,"


	8. Chapter 8

**Blade Scott, District Two**

"So, how did your private training sessions go?" My mentor Ares asks his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other. Olympia, Honour and I sit on one side, Destiny, Danger and Tempest on the other. Somehow, we manage to sit like this without tearing each others throats out. I suppose the only thing stopping us from doing so is the satisfaction we'll get from killing them for a live audience, in the arena. And it will be that way round. We have both power in numbers on our side, and the supreme skill. We are the élite career alliance, they are the tributes that we let join out of pity. The ones that, by district, should be in the career alliance but by skill, should be cornucopia deaths.

In comparison to us, they could be any old tributes.

"Remember," Our escort pipes up patronizingly, "It wont matter if you get lower than average scores,"

Honestly, who does he think he is? Speaking to us as if we are from District Twelve. We are nothing like them, since they have one of the lowest amount of victors and we have the very highest.

"I'll get twelve out of twelve, no question about it," Danger says gruffly from the other side of the room.

Yeah, right.

I watch Olympia raise one eyebrow at this, "You?" She says, innocently, "Get twelve out of twelve? You don't really think that, do you? I mean, the gamemakers would be overly generous if you got higher than a three,"

Destiny completely ignores Olympia's words and says "Since it is blatantly obvious that us three will get doubled digit scores, what do you think you'll be getting?"

Before any one of us can throw back a stinging remark, one of the mentors is telling us to shut up and watch the training scores. We do, but only because we know how small their training scores will be, and how high ours will be.

Our scores don't come first, though. They start with District One, like always. I make sure my eyes are glued to the screen. Most of District One are part of the other alliance, but I still need to know what the enemy get. What was it they told us at the training academy? _Know thy enemy?_ That was it. That's the reason I watched the Reaping's so many times, and why I have to concentrate right now. _Know thy enemy._

"And up first," Titus Flickerman says, live on screen, "Is Courage Jewell, with the score of...eleven!"

I look away from the screen for a moment to fire a smug look at the other side. But I soon turn back so I can see the next score.

"Our second wonderful tribute from District One is, with a score of nine, Gold Stuart,"

Yes, okay. He got a good score. Plenty of people win with a score of nine. Only, we have got an eleven on our side. And, eleven is better. I mean, who do you think the capitol will be watching? The older boy that got an eleven, or the mostly ignored boy that got a nine? I know who I'd put my bet on.

"And the third boy from District One is Treasure Champion with the wonderful score of ten!"

Another high scorer for the élite alliance!

"Now onto the females," The flamboyant Titus Flickerman calls out of the screen.

All three of them betrayed us by joining that joke of an alliance. Well, all three of them get nines, so I suppose it serves them right. As I said before, the score of nine is good...but if they had allied with us, they could have got a ten. Or an eleven, like courage did.

Now it's us. District Two. The most powerful of all the districts, the winner of the most hunger games. We'll probably win another, this year. That'll put us even higher than both one and four. Yes, we'll win this year. Or should I say 'I'll'? That's who'll be winning: me.

"Our first male from District Two, Blade Scott, has been given a...Ten!"

I was hoping for an eleven or twelve. But, oh well, ten suits me just fine.

"Danger Loire, with the score of ten,"

We all smile at this; "What happened to that twelve of yours?" Olympia says snidely.

Danger has no reply.

"And, finally, from District Two, Tempest Johns with a score of nine!"

Another nine. This other alliance keep getting the nines. In fact, Danger is the only one to get any higher.

"Now onto the ladies," Titus Yells, "Up first, is Olympia Deane with the fabulous score of eleven,"

We all start cheering at this. An eleven! Well, another eleven. And both for our alliance! I can see the envy in the other sides eyes. We keep getting elevens and all they seem to get are little nines.

"Honour Carroll with a score of nine,"

Honour smiles at us, weakly.

"Destiny Ling with the score of eight,"

Eight! What kind of career is she? Well, I'm glad we dropped her. Imagine it, a career getting an eight. An eight!

Titus then moves onto the scores from three. The boys all get the average scores of a non-career district. The two lover girls both get sixes. For District Three, that's quite impressive. Electra, our ally, gets a nine. Thank God! She was the one the other alliance were belittling. She got the same score as most of them. And higher than that fake, Destiny.

"And now, onto the final 'career' district," Titus says, as he finishes reading the District Three scores, "It's District Four!"

Only three members of District Four have stayed loyal to us. Two of those disloyal tributes (Rain and Hayden) are in neither alliance, so I suppose, if I have to kill them, the deaths will less painful than what I have planned for the others. The third member(Seamus) joined the other alliance with the remark 'I never liked you, Coral,' So I suppose I _could _go easy on him, too. Or not.

"Our first male tribute, straight from the heart of District four, with the unexpected score of six is Hayden Magnus,"

Unexpected? Yeah, I'd say unexpected. I expected him to get a three, the weakling. District _Twelve _were stronger than him, for goodness sake.

"River Meir, with the score of Nine!"

We can work with that, I suppose, especially with our two elevens.

"Seamus Tenison, with the score of ten!"

I'm going to enjoy killing him.

"And our wonderful ladies from four are," Titus goes on, "Rain Anderson, with a score of ten!"

Ten! I know coral keeps going on about how weak she is, but I think Coral is wrong. This girl is powerful. And, maybe, just maybe, this underestimated girl could get in the way of my crown. Or not. She has to be pretty stupid to bypass joining us careers. I mean, why have us as an enemy if we could be your team? Maybe Coral just knows this Rain girl is just plain stupid.

"Coral Parris, with a score of nine,"

The girl she underestimated got a higher score than her.

"And, Blue Tenison with the score of ten,"

Ten? I think that girl is hiding something from us. Her skills in the training centre warranted a lower score than ten, so her private session must have been something special.

Titus goes through districts five and six quickly. Neither of those districts have had a win in the past five years, and all sixes victors are drug addicts. Well, most of them. Besides, none of the tributes have done anything interesting. The highest score given is a seven, and the two sevens are given to the girls in Rain's 'pathetic little alliance'. Yes, Coral _has _underestimated Rain and her alliance.

"And now onto District Seven," Titus exclaims, in the same way he announced our career districts.

I don't blame him. Although seven haven't won for at least fifteen years, they almost always go far. Yes, there is normally someone from seven in the finale. Who ends up dead because of one of us. Besides, Timber from District Seven has joined our alliance, and one of the other girls has somehow got into Rains alliance _and _that same girl volunteered. One of the boys also looks strong. Skylark. Guess who said no to his joining. I'm starting to think Coral also has something to hide, as well as Blue.

"Our first male from District Seven is Skylark Marshall with a score of eight!"

Eight. Although, that is a disappointing score for one of us, for someone of District Seven...Its, well, Its a miracle. We should have ignored Coral and let him join. Perhaps, with our sort of training, he could have managed a much better score.

The two other boys get the poor quality scores that are the norm for lower districts. One of them receives a five, the other a three.

"And, now onto the girls," Titus says, "Up first, is Ebony Nelson with a score of six!"

Not bad. Not good, either. It would be a disgrace if a career managed a score like that, but to someone from a lower down district, I suppose it could be counted as pretty impressive.

"Timber Andrews with the score of ten!"

It was expected. I mean, she practically barged in and demanded to be part of our alliance. _And she won a fight against me._

"And, Tiger-Lilly Manhattan, with the score of eight,"

Aha! I knew it. Coral has underestimated that alliance by so much. I wouldn't be surprised if they _killed_ Coral. I honestly wouldn't care if they did. I mean, nobody likes her.

District Eight is the last one we watch. I don't see the point of watching any more. The people that will be cornucopia deaths are the people in districts lower than eight. I mean, why should I bother to learn the names of those I plan to brutally murder in the next few days?

Finn, the boy from eight, that ran off with the other alliance got a ten for his score. I wish he was still in our alliance, I mean, I got on well with him. I'd say we were mates, if this was in any other circumstance.

"You should get some sleep," Our escort says in a shrill voice, "You'll want to be up bright and early tomorrow so we can work on your interview techniques!"

We all just look at him. What an idiot.

"You _should_ get some sleep," Medusa, our head mentor says, "The more sleep you get before the arena, the less you have to sleep in the arena. And that leaves more hunting time,"

Danger smiles evilly before exiting the room. His two allies following him out. Once we have heard the three doors slam, Olympia mimics Danger's smile and we leave the room laughing.

My room is right at the end of the hall, across from Destiny's and right next to Danger's.

"Night Blade, Night Honour," Olympia says before disappearing into her bedroom. Honour and I exchange similar phases before she opens her own door and slips into her own room.

A shadow falls over me, as I go to turn the handle of my door. At first, I think it is one of the girls. It takes only one moment for me to realize who the person really is.

"Good evening, Danger," I say politely, turning to face him. My voice then changes and becomes hard, "What do you want?"

"I just want a chat," Danger says, "shall we go in my room, or yours?"

"Whatever you say, you say it here," I respond quickly. It would be worse if I ended up trapped in a room with him.

Danger just shrugs, "Whatever,"

"So, what do you want to say?" I ask, making sure the mild fear stays out of my voice.

"Look, we both know you're not happy," Danger says, I give a puzzled look, so he continues with, "You don't like your alliance, do you? You don't trust them. You want, desperately, to join ours. But you're scared. Of what Olympia will say, what she'll do. Aren't you?"

"Uh...no," I say, "You're wrong,"

"You can't deceive me," Danger says, "And you won't turn your back on that alliance. The alliance that will kill you. I saw your look when Timber joined,"

I raise my eyebrows. This is like a 'sell your soul to the devil' scene in one of those really old movies. Well, I wont fall for it.

"Danger," I say, "You've got me wrong. I'm not leaving that alliance. Its the élite alliance, unlike yours,"

"You don't have to," Danger says, surprisingly, "You just have to betray them,"

Good idea. Betray them but stay in the alliance. That'll only get me killed in the longest and most painful way possible. And that pain is the pain I should be inflicting upon others.

"Here's the deal," Danger continues, ignoring my look, "You be our man on the inside. Give us information, each night By signalling with the fire. I've seen you do it before, in the training academy, back home. Then, you make the alliance fall into all our traps,"

I look at him, blankly.

"Come on. It's a good deal," He continues, after a pause.

I continue looking. Does he really expect me to do that? To my Alliance; to my friends?

One look in his evil eyes and I know he actually does.

He must notice my hesitant look, "Come on, when the time comes, I'll let you kill Timber. I wanted to, but if you say yes, you can do it."

He holds out one hand, wanting me to shake it. I hold out mine, and let an evil smile come to my lips.

Then I draw it back, before our hands touch.

"As if!" I say, "You don't have yourself a deal,"

I slam into my room, quickly, locking the door. That was close. Way too close

Danger lets out a cry of anger, before thumping what must be his fist against the door.

"You'll regret this," He calls out.

"No I wont," I call back, knowing he wont break his way through the door. For one thing, its night, and he's already risked someone coming along here, with his thumping and yelling.

"I'll make you regret this," He says in a quiet, hissing, snake-like voice. He wont. I'll make sure I'm never near him alone. And, what's more, I'll kill him in the arena. Not just for me, but for the whole of my alliance, and his own.

After a while, he gives up, and storms back to his room. I hear angry muttering that suggests the rest of his alliance from two are in there as well.

_Well done, nice going,_ I tell myself, _now you've made a bigger enemy of Danger and his alliance._

I have to remind myself that it doesn't matter, and that we are stronger.

* * *

**A/N: Hi readers, sorry about the slightly late and slightly shorter update. I had a bit of trouble with writing this chapter, but I think it turned out alright. I do have a couple of ideas and would love to know your opinion on them. So I'd really appreciate it if you could give a response.**

**1) I'm thinking of renaming some of the chapters. The whole Chapter 1, Chapter 2, etc...is getting a bit dull. So, if you have any Ideas for what to name the chapters please let me know. I was thinking about naming each chapter after a song but I couldn't think of enough.**

**2) The next chapter will be about the interviews, and i'm wondering about how to present them. It'll looked rushed if I show all of the tributes interviews even if its from another persons perspective. If you could say which tributes I should focus on, I'd really appreciate it. And if you have a better idea, then I'd love to hear it.**

**3) Once I have started the arena do you think I should cut back every so often to show the POV of a family member. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Nano Lockhart, District Three**

Wires spiel around our rebel head quarters and a group of us sit at cramped desks typing in computer codes. Tonight will be the tribute interviews, and tomorrow the games. We have something special planned for this evening, and, if undetected, we could even stop the games. Or, at least, delay them a little. Delay them so much that by the time the capitol have sorted it out either ourselves or another rebel unit can send another attack.

When we stop the games, they'll be playing to our rules.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?"

I raise my eyebrows at this fool of a man, "Of course its a good idea,"

"Are you sure, sir, that this idea isn't because your brother is a tribute and you...you know..." The man trails off, blinking nervously.

"No, no," I say, going back to the keyboard, "Of course not, I am doing this because the games need to stop. We should have done something sooner,"

The man can see right through my act, I can tell. I don't care, though. All that matters is getting Flint out of this. He's Thirteen, for goodness sake. Thirteen. He shouldn't have to go through this hell. Then again, none of the tributes deserve it. Not even the career tributes. They're all innocents, all of them. Even the tributes that are shown as bloodthirsty killers or cannibals are innocent. Even the tributes that are trained up from day one to kill are innocents. They are all just children forced to play soldier. Only, its more than just a game. And they are more than chess pieces, more than toy soldiers. They are people. With fears and feelings. With people they love.

_So why is my little brother so much more important than all of the other innocents?_

"Well...if you're sure," The man says, breaking my train of thought.

"Yes, I'm sure!" I snap, becoming inpatient with him, "Why should I say something that I don't mean?"

"I don't know, Sir," He says humbly, "I'm sorry, Sir, Its just...I lost my younger sister in the games a few years back. If I could, I would have done something...anything..."

"I understand, completely," I say, "That's why we have to act now. To stop more people suffering. With the rule change, it was only going to get worse,"

The man nods his head, before rushing off to join some of the other newer rebels.

"Smith?" I turn to my second in command, who has been standing awkwardly throughout our entire conversation, "What's the news? Give me an update."

"We've had a message from the capitol rebels," Smith tells me, one look in her eyes tells me its bad news, "It says we should carry on like normal, it also lists ten tributes that are involved in the rebellion and a further three that have some sort of connection,"

"Ten?" I repeat

"Unfortunately, yes," Smith says.

"And the plan?"

"Good to go," She informs me, "We can have the test run anytime now,"

"We wont be having a test run," I tell her, ignoring the look, "We have the element of surprise on our side. If we did anything sooner, they'd know something was going on and investigate,"

Smith nods, "In which case you have informed all of the other districts?"

I can only look at her, guiltily.

It's times like this, that I think she should be the one in charge. Its times like this I wish I didn't have the responsibility of being a high up leader. Luckily, thanks to Smith, I can fix this one before it's too late.

"Delmar, Telsa," I call over to two of the younger rebel leaders that have connections from all over Panem.

"Yes sir?" They both reply at once, looking up from their respective computer screens.

"I need you two to work on contacting all of the other rebel units and warn them about our... plans for tonight, do you understand?"

"Yes, I'll get right onto it, Sir," Delmar says, before picking up a phone.

"Make sure you get to get to Gaius when you call the capitol, and Pendragon when you try District Two," I say, although, they should know this by now. They should know only to trust certain people with rebel plans. Someone told the capitol of the rebellion, and it wasn't our unit. I know that for certain, I can trust every person in this room, right now.

Telsa simply nods.

I go back to Smith, triumphantly, "They'll have told all the other units in ten minutes,"

"What if the other units object?" She asks.

I frown for a moment, "We do it anyway. We've worked too hard for us to stop at the say so of another unit,"

Then its her turn to frown.

Before she has a chance to argue, the sound system comes to life. Since our HQ is based in a backroom of a research centre I assume its just a message from the front desk. But instead of a message we get the screeching sound of a warning buzz.

Damn! That has to mean something is wrong.

Three more buzzes echo out into the room. Four buzzes all together.

Four Buzzes!

That means the peacekeepers are coming. The peacekeepers are coming! Here. Now. This isn't a drill, there isn't one planned for today. We wouldn't have one at such an important time, anyway.

The room becomes silent. Everyone is too afraid to move. We all know what the four buzz warning call means.

Smith speaks before me, her voice stopping the silence, "As you all know, there was no drill planned for today. So we have to act as if this was real because, it probably is,"

The place springs into life, people turning off computers and destroying any other evidence. In the mist of the madness I notice Smith, Delmar, Telsa and several others race from the room taking a laptop with them. They are not abandoning us, they are just getting out so if we are all sentenced there will still be rebels in the unit.

Those of us who stay in the room work in double time to work on our cover. The centre table is emptied of any incriminating material, and filled with a bunch of useless test tubes and acids. Everyone pulls on the large lab coats and goggles. Somebody logs onto the computer dubbed the 'innocent computer' as it is never used for rebel activities and brings up a spread-sheet. I grab a notebook, and fix my eyes on the table. Quiet, unimportant chatter is started.

I'm begging to God that we will hear a single buzz to inform us that the peacekeepers have gone. But we don't. The next thing I really hear is the sound of marching boots. Everybody continues talking, but we all know the peacekeepers are getting close. Really close. Way too close. We don't hear any talking or barging into any of the other labs. We don't expect to, though. We expect them to storm straight to the target.

Us.

As the peacekeepers stride in and surround us, the nervous chatter is quietened. Everyone else acts in shock, several of them jumping up in fear. I don't do a thing, I just stay at my desk, my eyes throwing daggers at the Head Peacekeeper Coleman.

He just marches to me, his eyes blank. He places a gun to my head, the cold shiny metal digging in but I stay still, my eyes becoming as blank as his.

"Nano Lockhart," He spits out my name before continuing with, "You have been found guilty of rebellious acts including treason..."

I don't react, but stay unhearing to the rest of his cruel words. Treason, one of the many crimes punishable by death. Death by hanging.

I tune back in, to hear more of his words, "...You will be killed by hanging from the neck until you are dead, immediately after the hunger games period. Up until your hanging you will be kept in peacekeeper custody,"

So they will force me to watch my brother suffer in the hunger games before killing me.

The gun is taken from my head, and a peacekeeper, not the head, grabs my arms and forces them behind my back. I am then shoved from the room, all the way through the town and into a cell. None of the other rebels are brought out or sentenced, as far as I can tell. Even if the peacekeepers stave me to death, I will still be able to cling onto the hope that the plan will go ahead.

From my cell window, I can just about see flames rising above the rooftops. Now I know, for sure, my master plan will not be going ahead.

That'll be our head quarters, going up in smoke.

**Titus Flickerman, The Capitol**

"So," The make-up girl says, as she finishes dabbing powder on my face, "Is going to be an interesting year, isn't it? Volunteers from outer districts, siblings, friends, anti-careers!"

"Like any other year," I announce, looking straight at her eyes. They're blue, with a fake looking sparkle in the left one.

"I suppose so..." She stutters, "But it has been predicted that these games will be the best _ever!_"

I don't respond.

This kid has only worked here a week. She hasn't witnessed broken victors try to put themselves back together. She hasn't seen all the suffering those _children _go through. She still only views the hunger games as a dramatic television show. She still only thinks of the tributes as pieces in the game. This kid is in for a shock. She'll go through the games like she normally would, but will get a nasty shock once they're over. This girl will be working with the victor. Helping to put the poor unfortunate victor back together. Then she'll 'll see the torment and the suffering, she'll know she was wrong to ever watch the games.

The make-up girl excuses herself before disappearing from my dressing room, unaware of my thoughts.

"Oi! Titus!" I swivel around to face the caller, who happens to be the stage manager, Aetos.

"How long have I got?" I ask, looking at the clock, only to see I have an hour before the show starts, "Is my clock slow, or something?"

"No," Aetos replies, looking up at my clock, "The president wants you on air now, the tributes are ready,"

"What? Why?" I ask.

"I don't know much," Aetos answers, "Only, you have an announcement to make. Presidents orders,"

"Announcement?" I say, becoming more puzzled, "About what?"

He hands me a script, " Apparently, some of the rebels have been caught,"

I quickly skim through the speech I am to make. Its about a rebel unit in District Three. From what I've just read, only the leader has been sentenced. To death. Its going to be broadcasted live once the games are over.

I have one question: Why?

Why not kill him right now? Just as the games are about to start? Strike fear into any of the tributes that have rebel connections? Because, there are bound to be some.

_What am I thinking?_

My eyes catch hold of the name of the guilty party. His name is Nano Lockhart. From my constant memorising of this years tributes and everything I can possibly know about them, the name rings a warning bell. This 'rebel' is of some relation to one of this years tributes. Flint Lockhart, if I recall correctly.

"Are you ready?" One of the stagehands asks as I approach the stage.

I fix a very fake smile to my face, muttering the words, "I was born ready,"

The music begins, and the lights swirl, making it almost impossible for me to see the audience.

"People of Panem! Welcome to the tribute interviews!" I shout into the crowd, right on cue, as the lights dim a little, allowing me to see.

The cheering continues, for a while longer. I should be used to the excitable behaviour, by now, but I'm not.

"Before we welcome the tributes to the stage, and I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I have a short announcement from District Three," I say, copying the speech word for word, just as the cheering dies down.

This time, the capitol crowd act with bemusement.

I can only smile before continuing with the words, "As you know, this year, the rules of the hunger games were changed because of suspected rebellious acts. I now bring you hot off the press information that these accusations have been proved. It has now been revealed that, in the heart of District Three, a rebel unit attempted to black out the entire nation of panem, at this exact time. These same rebels had further plans to break tributes out of the arena."

I hear a few comments shout out from the crowd, but I continue the words.

"So far, only the leader of this group, Nano Lockhart, has been charged. The sentence is death, and will be carried out after the hunger games are over,"

A small burst of abusive language about the districts echoes from the spectators, giving me just enough time to glance up at the president up in his balcony. He nods, a short, sharp nod. That means I've done right, the audience reacting how they should. I'm safe...for now.

This is going to make the tributes act even more rebelliously than they were. One look into the wings tells me that.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" I shout out, quieting the crowd, "Now is the time you have all been waiting for! Please welcome the tributes of the 169th annual hunger games!"

The yells of hatred stop, and the screams of joy fill the air.

**Fauna Lawrence, The Capitol**

I curl up on the sofa, a notebook resting on my knees. I'm home alone...yet again.

My family seem far too busy to be here, half the time. My older sister is working as a nurse, in the tribute tower, so she'll be watching the interviews with her gaggle of nurse friends and the kindly head doctor. I was invited along, but I didn't feel welcome. My mother works as a stylist, so she has to be in the live audience with all the other stylists. My Papa is a gamemaker, so he has to join all of the other gamemakers. Oh well, I'm fine alone.

I scoop up the remote, flicking buttons until I get to the interview channel, not wanting to use the voice operated devise whilst I'm alone.

On television, Titus Flickerman is welcoming the tributes to the stage. That's good, I haven't missed a thing. I wont get a bad grade in the project because I missed an interview.

The hunger games project is interesting, this year. We have to select twelve tributes, one from each district, at the reaping's. We then have to follow those tributes progress throughout the games and everything beforehand. Its much more interesting than the 'history of the hunger games' project we did last year or the project about one district, the year before. I, for one, am determined to get an 'A' on this one. I got one last year, and would love another.

_Gold Stuart_

Is written on the top of the first page of my rough notebook, my eyes skim what I have already written as the first girl from his district takes centre stage. I've done well, listing the exact words he said at the reaping and the names and ages of his siblings. Yes, I've done my research well. Not that it was hard, I just read the news paper and several gossip magazines along with reading the 'national tribute database' online. I've also got several images of him and a few sketches saved onto my computer.

Once the tributes are in the arena, I'll buy a large scale map of it, and plot out their movements and any other important occurrences. That'll get me an 'A' for sure.

When Gold enters the stage, I turn on the subtitles and make note of all he says. He's going for bloodthirsty and slightly idiotic. That'll get him plenty of sponsors, for certain. I scribble down my prediction, just in case it turns out to be important.

The two more popular boys from one follow Gold. Practically everyone chose one of them. Well, Gold was one of the people that split the career alliance. That's worth watching.

I flip over a few pages to the name of the next tribute I chose.

_Olympia Deane_

She's popular, too. And she's in the career alliance.

To be honest, I don't know why everyone loves Olympia. In her reaping she downright insulted us. That's why I chose her, because I suspected that the whole of the capitol would hate her. It turns out, collectively, the rest of the capitol is more bonkers than I thought. I thought if somebody insulted you, you would hate them. And, if said person was in the hunger games, I'd want them dead. Just saying.

When Olympia's interview comes around, I'm not entirely sure if she is attempting to offend us or not. Some of the things she says make me shriek at the screen, but others make me warm to her straight away. I really don't understand the angle she is supposed to be playing. For some reason, the crowd like her, no matter what she says.

This is only a guess, but I reckon she'll get a lot more sponsors than Gold. Her interview was certainly more memorable.

_Electra Kipling_

That's the next name in my book. This kid is something, honestly, she is. She is barely thirteen and she has volunteered for the hunger games. I know, brave right? She is one of the few volunteers from District Three, and one of the all-time youngest in the history of the hunger games. Electra, according to Papa, spent the entire time proving how deadly she is. She even managed to get in with the careers.

That's why I'm so surprised at her interview. Rather than showing the deadly, bloodthirsty tribute she is, Electra shows off her inner innocence. That's smart. Incredibly smart. She is showing that even the deadliest of tributes is really, inside, still innocent. This kid is one to watch out for, in the hunger games. Smart but powerful. That's a deadly but rare combination.

I mean, how often do you find a bloodthirsty career that also happens to be a complete Genius?

Here's a clue: almost never! Actually, never, just never.

Never in my lifetime, at least.

Now onto District four. I yawn my way through the rest of District Three. The lovebirds, the boy with the rebel brother, the two boys that have been ignored the whole way through.

I think of District Four with longing. District Four has always been one of my favourite districts. Particularly because of the amount of money I won on last years bet.

"Thank God for District Four!" I mumble to myself, my eyes grazing over the name of the tribute I have chosen.

_Hayden Magnus_

In his reaping, he was the polar opposite to what Electra was. She was the strong one amongst the weak; He was the weak amongst the strong. When his name was called, I expected someone to volunteer quickly. No, that didn't happen. He was left to nervously walk to the stage.

Nobody else in my form paid any attention to him. He was marked off as a weakling; as a bloodbath death.

Only, I don't think he will be, I think he has something to hide. For one thing, Papa tells me he has joined a suspected anti-career alliance. For another, both his grandpa and brother are victors. They wouldn't allow a family member into the games without training, would they?

He continues the weakling angle, in his interview, making the crowd both hate him, and feel sorry for him.

Well done, Hayden, you've fooled the whole of Panem. Except me, of course. I'm betting, once he gets into the hunger games, he'll turn out to be a deadly enemy. Bloodthirsty. The type that would rip a still beating heart from an infants chest. That's how much he is fooling the country. That's how much of a monster Hayden Magnus is.

He is just brilliant at hiding it.

Now onto District Five, the district that has only ever had four victors, that we practically ignore. Well, I certainly didn't ignore my chosen tribute. I know every detail about him.

_Lance Brisket_

This guy first caught my attention at his reaping by the way he walked to the stage. Those before him had walked to the stage nervously, but not Lance.

He stormed to the stage, with hatred in his eyes and a stomp in his step. When the escort asked him a few nervous questions, he scowled and shouted his answers into the microphone, angrily.

The Lance that crosses the stage, now, is a completely different person. He walks slowly to the centre like an old man. Once he has sat down with Titus, his eyes fixate to an unknown point slightly to the left. He barely blinks.

The boy answers in cold, hard sentences, ignoring Titus' many attempts of banter. Never an answer longer than three words.

"So, Lance," Titus says, "How are you finding the Capitol,"

"Okay," Is the emotionless response Titus gets.

All of the answers are like this. Cold, hard, emotionless.

The Lance I see tonight is the complete opposite to the one we all saw on reaping day. The other had a shouty, in-your-face persona; this one is like a decrepit old man. Broken. The eyes are the thing that really gets me. At the reaping, his eyes were full of life, and anger. Now, they are lifeless. It's like he's a corpse already. It's like the hunger games have already taken his life.

The rest of District Five put up a good show, showing an interesting array of different personalities and skills. Smart, strong, sly.

But nothing they say or do can take my mind away from the eyes of Lance Brisket.

Hopefully, the next district will take my mind off him. Saying that, Its not likely. District Six are almost as unknown as District five.

I turn the page, almost ripping it out. I skim through the words, familiarizing the tribute that I chose. The words swirl around my brain, mixed in with an image of lance sitting next to Titus. I read it through, again. This time, some of the words stay in my mind.

_Galaxy Willis_

Everyone likes her. Those are the first words that spring to mind when I see her name written in my swirly writing, at the top of the page. Even though she got reaped in her overalls, she still found a place in the capitols heart. She just has this incredibly likeable persona that has made us all fall in love with her. Not even I can hold a grudge about her, or say anything bad. I'm like the rest of them. If the hunger games were based on who was the most-liked tribute, Galaxy would win, hands down. I don't even know why I like her.

The capitol just warmed to her, instantly.

Sure enough, the second she steps onto the stage, the whole studio audience become under her spell. She laughs with Tutus, sharing a few jokes. Now, the audience are practically cheering after every word she says.

Then Titus asks about the rebellion. Her response breaks the spell and destroys her image.

"I don't see what is wrong about fighting for justice," She says, with the same anger Lance used in his reaping, "I mean, you'd do something, Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you!"

Titus smiles, asking another question. And she drops right back into the nice-girl persona. I swear some of the crowd go back into her spell, as if nothing happened. Not all of them. Certainly not me.

Now I hate her; now I want her dead.

Now I wish I had never chosen her for this project.

I start yelling at the screen, and have to remind myself of the next tribute, just to take my mind of her.

**Timber Andrews, District Seven**

The capitol are getting bored, now. I can tell because when the last tribute from District Six leaves the stage the cheering is more tired than excited. They should put District One last, just this once, see how they like it, having the audience full of possible sponsors completely ignoring them. Okay, maybe not but lots of the young children are actually sleeping.

Well, we'll have to do something to wake them up, wont we.

It'll have to be District Seven, Since none of the outer districts have the guts to do something drastic. Well, some of them do. The rebels. I know for a fact that there are rebels in even lower districts. But I don't know if any of them will be joining me in the arena.

"Give a warm welcome, To Ebony Nelson!" Titus calls. Ebony walks to the middle of the stage to half-hearted clapping. She shakes Titus' outstretched hand, before taking her seat.

"So, how have you been finding the capitol?" Is the first question.

Ebony gives a smile, "Just great! The fashion is unusual, the food is magnificent!"

Ah. The humble approach. Yeah, that'll get her sponsors. Or just send a few more children to sleep. I mean, _humble, _its so overdone.

"Well, if you win, you'll be able to come back to all this," Titus says, stating the complete obvious.

If I was up on that stage, I'd reply sarcastically.

Ebony just giggles, "Me? Do you really think I could win? I'm just a little girl from District Seven,"

"Everyone stands a chance, Ebony," Titus says.

"I suppose so," Ebony says in answer.

"If you did win, what would you do with the prize?" Titus smiles.

"I don't know," Ebony says, "I'd never really thought I could make it,"

"There must be something you'd like," Titus probes gently.

"Safety," Ebony says, "Safety for my family. Work is dangerous in my district, I want my family to be safe from it,"

Titus laughs, along with a few members of the crowd, like its funny, "Well, I hope you can do that. The best of luck to you,"

Ebony thanks him, before edging back to her chair.

Then its my turn.

"Ah! Timber! Welcome to the stage," Titus says as I make my way towards him.

"Its great to be here," I say flatly.

"So Timber, there are so many rumours about you. Would you confirm if these are true or false?"

"Yeah," I say, as if he bores me to tears. It takes him a moment to start reading, so I use the moment to my advantage, "So, Titus," I continue, "Get on with it, man!"

At first, I plan on answering simply and sharply with one word answers. Once the questions have started, I decide to extend my answers a little...or in some cases, a lot.

"True or false, you entered the stage from the back because you were late,"

"False. I entered from the back because a peacekeeper caught me trying to escape,"

"Escape?" Titus questions.

"From the reaping,"

He looks at me, puzzled, "Why?"

"Maybe because I don't want to be brutally murdered,"

The crowd laugh, thinking it was a joke.

"I'm perfectly serious!" I shout over the din, in such a way that makes them all shut up.

"Right...True or false, nobody visited you after the reaping," Titus says.

"False. I was visited by a few..." I pause for a moment, choosing the right words, "Friends in high places,"

Titus nods, "True or false, you ran away from your prep team,"

"True. I don't want to look like you bunch of freaks,"

Titus pretends to take offence before continuing, "True or false, you got into a fight during training,"

"True. Only, I wont tell you who I beat up. Just it was a little guy from two,"

I smile straight at Blade, who looks like he wants round two. I'd be happy to have it. Right now.

"We could do a re-enactment, if you like," I say, evilly, before pulling a knife from my sleeve, "I have a knife,"

"That's just fine, Timber," Titus says, nervously, urging me to stuff the knife back into my sleeve, "Besides, your time is up,"

"_Such _a shame!" I reply, before casually walking back to my chair.

Tiger takes the stage, next. I don't bother watching, though. Why should I? I already know her angle is 'regular tribute with a touch of rebel and a chunk of courage'. I wont bother watching Skylark's interview, as I know his angle too. I don't know what the other boys are doing, but it is bound to be the same old stuff. The only reason I would bother looking would be if they did anything interesting, caught my attention. Tiger seems to be impressing the capitol, but that's not the same as interesting me, or making those watching all the way in District Seven proud. If I get home, I wont want to be hated any more than I already am. Telling the truth tonight may have lessened my chances in the arena. But it made me more likeable to the districts.

Besides, I'd rather die than suck up to the capitol.

* * *

**A/N: Hello readers! I'm sorry about the slightly late update. I hope the chapter length makes up for that.**

**Anyhow, I've been entering a lot of SYOTs recently and I was wondering if you could all write a tribute for the wonderful 'Mockingjack'. This guy is a great writer (if you don't believe me, check out his story 'The sun is going down'). The tribute form is on his profile, so if you are interested check it out!**

**Thank you for reading, and sorry for not including every district, but when I hit the 5,000 mark, I thought 'enough is enough'!**

**Special thanks to richards25 who is my most loyal reviewer and actually made this fic a possibility. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Fauna Lawrence, The Capitol**

Just as my chosen tribute from District Seven takes the stage, the phone starts to ring. I try to ignore it, I really do. But it just keeps ringing and ringing and ringing and...

"Hello, Fauna Lawrence speaking," I say, in an irritable voice, as I snatch up my mobile.

"Hi Fauna," The voice of Papa comes through, loud and clear.

"Papa!" I say, then I realize something is wrong. I mean, its the middle of the tribute interviews, why else would he call?

"What is it?" I continue with, "Is something wrong?"

"There's a problem at gamemaker HQ," He says, and I give a sigh even though I could have guessed this was coming, "So I wont be coming back home tonight,"

"What happened?" I ask, knowing I should care but not really caring, all the same.

"One of our mutts, the bear one that was programed to rip tributes throats out," He says, "We gave it one final test run,"

"And...?"

"It made friends with the avox it was meant to be pulverising,"

"Nasty," I reply with, pulling a disgusted face.

"Very," Papa agrees, and I can almost see the smile he must be smiling at this moment.

"Whoever mucked it up deserves to be shot!" I call, knowing that's what he wants to hear.

"That's true," Papa says, "Because now we have to stay to re-program it or think up a new one,"

"Why don't you try the tracker you and I invented together?" I say, "You said yourself, it was genius,"

His end of the phone goes quiet as he thinks it over.

"I'll try it," I says, "Bye Fauna,"

"Bye Papa,"

I flick off the phone, turning back to the screen. _Why does he always do that to me? _He promises to spend a day with me or do something but then calls it off at the last minute for the hunger games. The hunger games! I'm his youngest daughter, for Gods sake. His daughter. And a game is more important than helping me with homework or just spending time with me. A game. It's just a game. He thinks a game is more important than his family. So does mother. She's just as obsessed with the hunger games as he is. They all are, the whole of this place.

District Seven has gone by at this point, and half of eight. but I don't care. Why should I? It is only a game, after all.

I exhale, quickly, turning the page of my notebook so rapidly that the page is almost ripped out.

_Brooklyn Silk_

She was awkward at her reaping. Nervous. She moved like a china-doll, her limbs working like a clockwork. I was the one that selected her from the crowd right at the start. I saw potential in her. Though, I didn't know why.

I was right about her. I'm always right.

It took a gorgeous rainbow hair-cut to transform her from an ugly, plain caterpillar into a beautiful blossoming butterfly. She was popular at the parade. Not as beautiful as some of the career districts, of course. But beautiful and popular, all the same.

She plays to a sexy angle, in her interview, giving the District One girls a run for their money. Well, this one deserves it. Brooklyn deserves it. For making that transformation from caterpillar to butterfly. I know her team are mostly responsible, but she still put on a good show.

The next turn of the page is much calmer.

_Cornflower Morrison_

She isn't popular or pretty. She is, in one word, shy.

Just shy. Whenever Titus asks her a question, she gives a giggle and a shaky little answer.

It is an odd little act, I can tell you. She avoids eye contact at all costs, keeps nibbling her lip as if an awkward question has been asked and constantly twirls a strand of hair in her fingers. Perhaps this is supposed to be sexy and she is just drastically failing?

Well, it is possible.

Just not very likely.

I'm beginning to wish I never chose her. I mean, she hasn't done anything interesting. Her poor little act is just irritating me.

Really irritating.

Lord, I hope she is killed in the bloodbath tomorrow.

It takes one minute for me to get so irritated with her that I just flip the page and ignore her. I start to read through the profile of the next tribute, hoping this guy wont turn out to be so annoying.

The humble place of District Ten. Livestock. They don't do anything wrong, not District Ten. They're as dull as districts come. Dull, boring. Not annoying, not even a little rebellious. District Ten used to be my favourite district, when I was young, before I knew any better.

_Thyme Jameson _

He's a big lad, Thyme. But other than that, he's just a regular tribute.

He has done nothing amazing, since he arrived in the capitol. On the tribute parade opening ceremonies, he stood as still as a statue on his chariot. Never even gave any eye contact. Some people liked him, but a great deal of them ignored him.

Then, in the training centre. He was asked to join the career alliance but refused. He got a training score of eight, all the same. And that's not easy to get, I can assure you.

Then again, there were quite a few high scorers this year.

At the interview he uses is size and obvious man power to gain more sponsors. If I hadn't sponsored him already, I would be brandishing my credit card as if there was no tomorrow. Maybe not, I maxed it out a few years back, sponsoring every tribute that turned my head. Papa wasn't best pleased, and mother was absolutely furious.

"So, Thyme, what is it like in District Ten?" Titus asks, "I mean, do you have a job? A girlfriend? A big family? Anything else worth fighting for?"

"I work in the slaughter houses," Thyme says gruffly, "Killing pigs and cows,"

"And a girlfriend?"

"I'm married to my job,"

I smile at Thyme, through the screen.

Yeah...this is just an act. A good act, mind you. A work of genius in comparison to cornflower.

But it's still an act. I doubt he even works in the slaughter house.

Who cares if it's an act? Who cares that he is a liar?

The games aren't about real talents, are they? The games are about looks, likability, brute strength. But, most of all, sponsors. Sponsors. The tributes that do well always have a big fan base. Always have a horde of people willing to spend millions on a bottle of water or a blanket. You don't have to be pretty to win the hunger games, though, that sure helps. You just have to be liked.

If you are a tribute, image is key. Image is everything.

I applaud Thyme, I really do. For he has stolen plenty of sponsors from the all-powerful career tributes. That doesn't happen much. And he has done it. A poor boy from ten.

Well done Thyme.

Lets hope another tribute manages to steal the show with an amazing performance. With luck, said tribute will be one of those I have chosen. Unlikely, I know. Only the very end of the food chain are to go.

The least popular, the most likely to die at the start:

District Eleven and District Twelve.

I turn my attention back to the screen, taking in Titus, "Please welcome to the stage, all the way from District Eleven...Miss Sunrise Madison!"

I hurry to flip through the notes I already have on Sunrise and a few sketches of her costumes so far.

_Sunrise Madison_

The kid practically skips across the stage. I already know her angle is going to be innocent.

How dull.

How boring.

I expected her to come out as all brave and strong. With that attitude I often notice in older tributes. That 'I know I'm going to die but I'll die trying,' Attitude. Them. Yeah, I like tributes like that. The ones playing to the innocent angle are plain stupid and likely to die in the bloodbath.

"How has your time been in the capitol then, Sunrise?" Titus asks.

Actually, he's asked that question plenty of times in the past few hours. He needs some new question ideas.

Sunrise giggles childishly, "Just wonderful,"

"I suppose you are looking forward to coming back here after the games?"

She giggles again, "What do you mean 'after the games'?"

I roll my eyes and almost throw my notebook at the television. This one is almost more annoying than Cornflower.

Almost, but not quite.

Honestly, though. Innocent and humble. In a pretty white dress. Her hair in two bunches.

How many times has this been done before?

Hundreds? Thousands?

And that's not just recently. The whole innocent and humble trick is an old one. Used at the time of the mockingjay rebellion. Used _before _the mockingjay rebellion. I bet, if I re-watched the interviews of the very first hunger games I would find the use of the innocent angle. I bet the innocent and humble angle has been used in almost every hunger games.

District Twelve had better put on a good show.

District Twelve don't put on a good show.

My tribute is very last, so I end up watching through five poor performances before watching the only tribute that stuck out.

_Bramble Cooper_

Bramble dominates the stage, right from the start. The studio audience that, by this point, have been snoozing I their seats actually sit up a bit and enjoy the show. I have to say, Bramble knows how to play the crowd. Titus and him are like best friends. That's probably why it works so well. The banter is just so casual we can't help but like it.

Bramble is amazing.

There is only one place where his act falters a little.

But that's one question out of a dozen.

And I know, along with the others, I love this guy. And he _Is_ from District Twelve.

As Titus closes the interviews I sit back in my chair, in satisfaction. _Go me!_

Then the phone starts to ring.

The only reason I pick it up is because it could be Papa. Saying the mutt has been fixed. Or, even better, our tracker has been chosen to replace it.

But its not Papa. Its Mother.

She lets out a stream of jumbled words that I don't understand and the sound of crying. Any Idiot could tell she is worried. Nervous. Afraid. Any idiot could tell something is seriously wrong.

"Mother? mother!" I call out her name, attempting to calm her.

She quietens down, until all I can hear is sniffling.

"Okay, Mother," I say in what I hope is a comforting voice, "Tell me again, only, this time, much slower and much calmer..."

**Aulus Lawrence, The Capitol**

It's the night before the games begin, and the place is hectic. We're only supposed to be finalising details, but there was something drastically wrong with one of the mutts, so we'll have to work overnight. There goes my last night of sleep before the games.

To make matters worse, the head has just been rushed off for an interview. I'm not impressed. What kind of idiot wheels out the head gamemaker in a moment of crisis?

The president, that's who.

"Hey, Gemellus!" I call across the gamemaker testing lab, "You have to see this!"

"Is it an ingenious way of fixing this mutt?" He asks, "Or an amazing new one?"

"...no" I say, bashfully, wondering how to sell this idea.

"Then I'm not interested,"

"But it will plant fear into the heart and soles of the tributes," I say, hopefully, to our second in command.

He blinks, "Okay, you've got one minute to impress me,"

I nod, showing him what looks like a glorified tribute tracker. He frowns, tilting his head to one side. Okay, not the best of starts. So what I say will have to be supreme. He speaks before I can say a word, though.

"You've failed to impress me," Gemellus says, starting to walk away, but I stop him.

"This tracker contains tracker-jacker venom," I say, catching his attention, "We will be able to control the flow of the stuff, just as we control the traps,"

"...and?"

"I tested it on an avox earlier. She was howling in fear within a couple of minutes,"

"That's good...very good," Gemellus says, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Is it in?" I ask, "I mean, can we use it? Not on all of the tributes. Just a _select_ few."

"Maybe," He says, "The president did say he needed a certain tribute to suffer that little bit more,"

I nod, just as the head gamemaker appears.

"Sir," Gemellus and I speak at the same time, and I'm sure the whole lab becomes quiet.

"Have you found a replacement mutt yet?" The head says, growling slightly.

"No sir,"

"Then we'll have to manage without it, then," The head says, "Otherwise the games would never begin,"

With those words, the group of us march up to the control room. And I know, even without the mutt, these games are going to be the best ever. People will be talking about them for generations to come. In a hundred years time, people will be wondering how we managed to put on such a good show. In two hundred years time, the repeat will still be shown on special occasions. In three hundred years time, the dream of every child will be to better these games. I watch the future unfold out in front of me. My bloodline always proud that their ancestor had something to do with the legendary games.

I can't wait until morning.

Still, there is a lot of work to be done before morning comes. A hell of a lot of work. We still need to finalise the cornucopia layout, put in place a few more traps and select several more people to join our new commentator, Tulla Roberts, throughout the games. And that's just to start. This night is going to be a long night, even without the mutt problem.

What did my father tell me, when I was a young lad? _After the darkness comes light._

Just like now.

After the darkness and hard work of this night comes the light and the satisfaction of all our hard work paying off as the games begin.

"There's a message for a Mr Aulus Lawrence at the front desk," One of the trainee gamemakers calls out, "Urgent, apparently,"

"Tell them to leave. Tell them I'm far too busy," I call to him, "Tell them I'll come after the hunger games,"

"But..." The trainee argues.

"Are you deaf?" I say rudely, "I said, I'm busy,"

A grin spreads over my face as he lets me be. The great games are almost upon us.

**Thistle Cooper, District Twelve**

Neither of us can sleep. But we knew that the second our mentor told us to try and get some sleep. So, we just sit here, in Bracken's bedroom. Remembering.

Remembering happy times, remembering sad ones. Remembering that we are humans and no one should be forced to do what we will do in the morning. Among the memories, a recent one surfaces. A memory from just a few days back. On the tribute train. Bracken showed me his tribute token, but refused to tell me why he had it, or where it came from.

"Bracken," I say in the voice that warns him I have an awkward question to ask.

"Yeah," He says, worriedly.

"Where _did _you get your tribute token from?"

He sighs, exasperated, "I'll tell you later,"

"I need to know," I say, "Just in case,"

"You wont die on the first day," He says, "And nor will I,"

"Either is possible. I mean, we _are_ from twelve," I point out, "Then I'd die not knowing,"

"Fine," Bracken says, "I'll tell you now,"

I smile a small, sad smile. I wont have many more smiles in my life. This could even be my last.

"The locket was mothers," Bracken says-

But before he can say anymore I speak, again, in a cold voice "You had something of mothers, but kept it to yourself?"

"No," He responds, flatly, "I was given it, in the goodbyes. A close friend of our mother...said she hoped I'd bring back victory, and rebellion,"

I frown.

"It turns out, I'm the first volunteer, from twelve, since Katniss Everdeen,"

I can only stand, shocked, for a moment.

"Where'd mother get it from?" I wonder aloud. Its the first thing that comes into my head, to get the conversation back up.

Surprisingly, Bracken answers:

"Apparently she got it from an old lady in town. She was alive during the rebellion,"

"She must have been young at the time," I muse.

Bracken nods, "She was, old Posy,"

"Posy?" I ask, having heard her name before, yet not remembering anyone from home with that name.

He nods, again, "Posy Hawthorne,"

**Tiger-Lilly Manhattan, District Seven**

"I can do this!" I whisper to myself, as I look into the mirror, "I _can_ do this!"

I don't look as if I can do anything. My tearstained face makes me look like a young child. About eight or nine, no where near old enough to be killing- or dying. Then again, some of the tributes are barely older than that.

Face the facts_, none _of us are old enough for this.

_Face the facts, nobody should be put through this._

I look a mess, but I still keep glairing into the mirror and chanting 'I can do this' over and over.

Deep inside, I know I can't.

I drench my face in water, trying to rid myself of the young child look. The last thing I want to do is make myself look younger and weaker, in the arena. Even if I don't exactly plan on playing to win.

"Face it, Tiger," I say to myself, "I can't do this. I really cannot do this,"

" 'course you can do it, Tiger,"

I jump as I hear the voice, and swivel around to face the caller. Timber! I wonder how long she's been standing there. Five minutes? Ten? Even longer? Not long, I don't think. I'd have noticed her if she'd been there ages. Probably.

"What do you want Timber?" I ask bluntly.

Sure, she might come across as nice, but she joined the careers. She joined the careers. The careers!

No respectful District Seven citizen does that. I mean, careers are basically child murderers. Trained killers. They are brought up for one purpose- killing. Timber is not one of them. She is not one of them. She isn't a killer.

Or is she?

Sure, we used to be friends. When we were young. However, since her dad got ill, we kind of lost touch.

"We wondered if you wanted to come hang out," Timber says, "All of the rest of us are going to Skylark's room. There's no chance of us getting to sleep. The odds are against it,"

I give a weak smile, "I'll join you in a moment,"

I walk from my bathroom, and slump down on my bed._ Oh God._

Rather than nodding and exiting the room, Timber slumps down beside me.

"Life sucks, right," She says.

"That's a hell of an understatement," I say, grinning slightly.

"Yeah," She nods, and its just like old times.

A moment of silence breaks into the conversation. Its not quite like old times.

Old times was when we were kids. Carefree, naïve, unaware of the horrible world around us. Right now, we are older, wiser, and more depressed. We are about to be entered into the hunger games. A death match televised live to the nation. Things sure have changed since we stopped being friends.

"So," Timber says, trying to stop the quiet, "What was all that muttering about? You can survive, of course you can,"

I blush, a little. Winning wasn't my thought, a few moments ago.

"For how long, though?" I ask, switching to humble, immediately, "The careers are going to pulverize me. Us. All the rest of us,"

She nods, "I wont,"

"Its not the same," I argue back.

"The alliance has split," She says, as if proving a point.

"So?"

"So they'll be too busy fighting each other to go for you lot. And you'll have an attack, right?"

I swear my eyes light up.

Timber smiles. She _did _say she had a plan. But that was unconvincing. We all assumed it was just an excuse to get shade off her back. Maybe she thought up a plan. Or maybe this was her plan, all along.

She places one finger to her lips, for half a second.

Right, I have to stay quiet about this. Makes sense.

"Shall we...go join the others then?" I say, knowing she wont speak any more of it.

She smiles; nods. Then she holds up a little brown package, tied with string.

My mouth falls open. I swear that was taken from me on the tribute train.

I can feel my skin pale, the colour draining from my face. _Oh my God._ How the hell did she get that? We were searched before we got on the train, and a peacekeeper snatched it from me. The only reason he didn't grab the mockingjay pin was because I saw him search the others, before me. I smartly hid it away in my mouth.

"This isn't drugs, is it?" She says, " 'cause that's what I thought it was when I nicked it from that peacekeeper,"

"No, its not drugs," I say, after a pause.

"So what is it?"

A feeling tells me she already knows.

"Poison," I whisper the word, wondering what she is going to do. Wondering about what she has already done.

"Why would you need poison?" Timber asks, "Were you planning on poisoning the other tributes?"

I shake my head, "It was for...others,"

"Capitol people?" She asks, "I wouldn't blame you,"

I blink, wondering what else she knows.

She laughs for a moment, "Come on, the others will be wondering where we are,"

I make myself laugh, too. And follow Timber from the room.

She _has _to know who I really am.

**Rain Anderson, District Four**

I toss and turn under the blankets, failing to get comfortable. Failing to get to sleep. What would be the point, anyway? I'd be haunted by nightmares.

Those nightmares that will be coming true in the morning. In the arena.

A light tapping comes from the door, making me jump.

_That'll be Hayden._

I run to the door, yanking it open.

But the figure that scuttles into my room isn't Hayden.

The figure is Coral.

_Oh God! _I wish I had something to protect myself with. A knife, anything! Coral is a big angry career. I'm the rabbit stuck in the headlights. And I have nothing to fight her with.

"Coral?" I whisper out angrily, as she sits down on the windowsill, "What the hell do you want?"

She just looks at me for a moment, fiddling with one strand of her long golden hair.

"Coral?" I speak again, sitting down beside her, "What's the matter?"

I wrap one arm around her shoulders, but she just knocks it off.

"Is it the games?" I say, watching a tear slide down her face, "Are you nervous about the games?"

The wipes the tear from her face, "Its...Its..."

"What is it?" I ask, encouragingly.

In one movement she shoves me down from the windowsill and has me pinned down with her legs, "You tell me, Anderson!" She yells, "What _is _it? What's the big deal?"

I struggle to move under her weight, but she is mush heavier and much stronger than me.

"What is your game?" Coral screams.

"I...I don't know what you mean..." I say, feebly."

_Oh God. She had better not have a weapon._

"I mean," Coral quits the yelling, "I mean, why are you doing this? You could be part of the careers without moving an inch, yet you decide to become a traitor and make your own alliance,"

"No particular reason," I say, instantly seeing her face become more angry.

"You know what I think?" Coral cries, "I think you plan on betraying us even more. killing us in our sleep. Or joining up with the other alliance,"

"Fine," I say-

"So you admit to it?" Coral interrupts, a smile coming to her lips.

"No," I say, "You're wrong about me,"

"Then why?" Coral says immediately, "Give me a proper reason,"

"I don't like how you lot work," I say, "I don't like how you go around needlessly murdering young kids. I could never do that,"

"But..." Coral says, puzzled, "That's the game. That's how you play,"

"That's how _you _play," I say, wondering how I'll be able to explain my way of thinking to a career, "I have a sister, Waterfall. If I went about murdering innocents, it would be like killing her,"

Coral leaps up, pulling me up so I am right next to her. We look at each other for a moment.

"Good luck in the games tomorrow, Rain," Coral says with a smile.

She holds out a hand, and I shake it.

"Good luck in the games tomorrow, Coral," I make myself say, as I force a smile.

I don't relax until she has closed the door behind her. Then I go back to tossing at turning on the mattress, as if nothing happened.

I close my eyes, thinking of home. Mother and father. Waterfall.

Especially Waterfall.

**Waterfall Anderson, District Four**

I wonder what Rain will be doing, right now.

She won't be sleeping, that's for sure. Rain never could sleep when she was anxious. She just kept awake all night, tossing and turning. Muttering to herself. I should know, we share a bedroom. I remember several times that Rain went into this unable to sleep because of nerves mode. So may times that I cannot recall them all.

I'm still awake, but not because I am struck with the same thing as my sister. Father is making us stay up. We have to re-watch Rains interview, he says.

But all he does is criticize everything she does.

At the first chance I get, I flee the room, and mount the stairs to my bedroom. Our bedroom. Rain's and Mine.

Its not an incredibly large room, just about large enough to fit our two single beds with a narrow space of carpet between. The size of the room doesn't matter, though. Rain and I, we made it special.

The turquoise walls are covered in photographs, posters, paintings and scraps of newspapers. Each of these things holds a memory. A memory of my big sister.

I look towards the bunch of fifteen slightly blurry prints that form a pyramid beside Rain's bed. They were taken about a month or so ago when Rain, her friend Hayden, my friend Madeline and I decided to spend the day on the pier.

Oh, the pier, I love that place. Its the heart and soul of the district. Everyone loves it, the whole thing. Somehow, this one place brings us happiness, brings us hope. From the four crowded market stalls that sell traditional seaside food (candyfloss, fish and chips, rock candy and Ice-cream) to the entertainers to the artists to the two old codgers that always sit at the end, supposedly fishing with rods. I don't think they sit to fish, I think they sit there to breathe in the happiness.

I remember that day so clearly. But, there was so much happiness, as if it was a dream...

_"Waterfall!" My sister Rain calls from the bottom of the stairs, "Are you ready? Maddy and Hayden are waiting!"_

_I shoot down the steps, unable to go quick enough. I've been awaiting this day for weeks. We're going to the pier!_

_Rain first took me to the pier when I was three years old, and going to the pier has always been a big treat since then._

_I charge out of the door, banging straight into Maddy._

_"Maddy!" I shriek, hugging her._

_I must look really formal, standing by her. Mother forced me into a pale blue dress that she deemed too informal for a reaping. Well, its too formal for a day out on the pier. Maddy is wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts, whilst Hayden is wearing simple trousers and a shirt. I feel I will look out of place. Then I catch sight of my sister. Rain. She wears a formal skirt and T-shirt with a silver locket hanging from her neck._

_"Where'd you get that?" I ask, pointing to the locket. _

_If she bought it Father would be furious. Since he lost all that money he's really cracked down. No buying sweets, no new clothing, no treats. The only reason we're going to the pier is because Hayden is treating us._

_"Fox bought it for me," She answers._

_"Fox?" I ask, "The ukulele boy?"_

_She nods, looking at Hayden awkwardly._

_"Shall we get going, then?" Hayden breaks into our conversation, "I need to stop by Reef's house, on the way,"_

_"Okay," Says Maddy, "But why?"_

_"To get a disposable camera, of course," Hayden says, "We'll want to keep these memories forever,"_

_"You come up with the best ideas, Hayden," Rain says._

_We practically sprint to Reef's house, and go even quicker once we've got the camera. We run until I get the nose tingling, mouth-watering scent of frying fish, burning candyfloss and ice-cream that tells me we are almost at the pier. A moment later, the sound of joy fills my ears. _

_We're here._

_Hayden hands the camera to the man at the gate, for a moment, so we can get a snapshot of the four of us together. The second we get the camera back, we go hurtling through the gates to the stalls. _

_Maddy and I look up hopefully up at Rain as we arrive at the first par of the pier, the food stalls._

_Rain just laughs, "Go on, what do you want?" She says, "Hayden and I have been doing tonnes of odd-jobs so we could come. Go on, just say and we'll get it,"_

_We end up with an ice-cream each, and a box of fish and chips to share._

_I snatch the camera out of Hayden's hand to snap a picture of Maddy with Ice-cream all around her mouth. _

_We spend ages at the entertainment part of the pier, laughing at the clowns and gawping in amazement at the acrobats. Snapping a couple of photographs when Hayden jokingly joins in the act. There are other sorts of entertainment, on the pier. Some of it we enjoy, other parts that we can only laugh at because we are in such high spirits. _

_We end up spending at least short time at everything the place has to offer. The traditional 'punch and Judy' show, the group of actors that perform practically all day, the old-fashioned merry-go-round, the old artist that paints portraits for a small price. We walk down the pier, snapping pictures all the way._

_"One of me and Waterfall, Pierre?" Rain asks as we get to the old artist._

_"Give me a minute to set up, lass," Pierre, the old artist replies, "Is ten minutes good for you?"_

_Rain nods, smiling, "Ten minutes is great,"_

_The next entertainer is the last, and he is none other than Fox, ukulele boy. The one that gave Rain the locket._

_He sits on the railings of the pier, an upturned top-hat resting on the ground. As we approach him, he starts to play a new song, his lips parting slightly to sing the lyrics, his ukulele turning out a pretty little tune. I recognise it as an old love song, written before the world fell to pieces. He smiles at Rain as he lings it. But the song isn't just about love, its about happiness, joy. Mirrors the day perfectly._

_When the song is over, he leaps off the railings towards us, scooping up his top-hat. He bows, and we obligingly clap, Hayden tossing a couple of silver pieces into the virtually empty hat._

_It was a beautiful song, and he does deserve the money, but how did he afford to buy that locket for Rain if this is his daily hull. _

_We natter on to Fox for a while, and the two old blokes that always sit at the end of the pier. Then we run off, giving a few coins to Pierre, as he selects a paintbrush._

I still have that painting, today. It's on my side of the wall, framed with seashells and with other, less loved images. In the painting, Rain and I are huddled up together, our arms wrapped around each other.

I wish Rain was sitting with me like that, right now.

Our arms wrapped around each other forever.

My eyes scan the room, glazing over each photograph, painting and newspaper scrap. Birthday parties, new years, and other special days, like the pier.

That's when it hits me.

It wasn't us that made this place special. It was Rain. And, right now, I can almost hear her laughter bouncing from the walls.

"Another addition to the Anderson gallery," I whisper.

That's what Rain would say each time we pinned something new to the walls.

Before I can tear down the display, a tapping comes from the window.

"Fox?" I ask as the figure climbs in.

"I'm sorry," Fox says, "But I had to come. Be with someone that loves Rain as much as I do."

I smile, "You could have come through the door,"

"I would, but your old man wouldn't let me in,"

Fox and I spend the rest of the night remembering every last detail about my big sister. Sharing happy memories, in a room surrounded by them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Lance Brisket, District Five**

"Rise and shine, Lance!"

I sit up, groaning. Why does my stylist have to be so hyperactive? Why?

I'll shortly be travelling to my impending doom and all he does is dance about squealing in joy. Actually squealing.

"Put this on!" He says, pausing from his excitable yelling to throw me a simple set of clothing. He then explains this is not what I will be wearing in the arena, this is just my travel clothing.

I do what he says, trying to ignore whatever he is now yakking on about. He looks hurt when I don't reply. Well, he doesn't seem to care that I'm going into that arena to die. But that's the capitol, all over. Self-obsessed, over privileged and flamboyant.

"Could you quit talking about the hunger games?" I eventually say, with an icy touch to my voice.

"Sure thing," He says. But he restarts his hunger-games speech about ten seconds later.

So I block him out, knowing he is far too excited about my death to shut up. It _is_ his first time as a hunger games stylist, after all.

Wait! What am I thinking? This guy has no right to laugh and cheer and parade about in joy about our deaths. And he can't use the fact that he was brought up as a capitol citizen as an excuse for this. I know for a fact many capitol citizens brought up in this way became good honest rebels.

I am lead up to the roof of the building where the hovercraft are waiting. A wave of air hits me as I reach the top step. I look to the sky, knowing this could very well be my last look at the natural sky. The clatter of footsteps makes me drag my gaze from above, and I turn to face the other five tributes from my district.

"Hey, Lance," One of the girls, Breeze says, coming to stand next to me.

I grunt in response.

"Umm...are you okay?" She continues, looking straight at me.

I nod, unconvincingly.

"Well...last night..." She says, "About the alliance..?"

"Breeze, come on!" Her preppy stylist interrupts, dragging Breeze over to one of the hovercraft. The stylist is talking in a quick, high pitched voice but Breeze ignores her, and whips around, yelling:

"What I'm trying to say is, you can join us. Your place in the alliance is still open,"

"No thanks!" I shout back, without thinking.

But I doubt she heard it over her stylists chatter and the roar of the hovercraft.

My stylist finishes his conversation with the other stylists before pushing me towards the second hovercraft. My hands and feet are glued to the ladder by some sort of current as I place them on the first few rungs of the ladder. I shoot up into the hovercraft as quick as the elevator was.

The first thing I see as I reach the top is a man with clown make-up and surgical gloves in a mint-green colour. He injects my fore-arm with a needle before the current releases me.

He turns to walk away as I leap from the ladder.

"Hang on!" I call after him, "What the hell is this?"

I press my finger against where he has just inserted the needle. There is now a small square lump in my injection obviously put something under my skin.

"That's your tracker, Mr brisket," The man says, "So the gamemakers know where you are at all times,"

"Oh.." I can think of nothing else to say.

The man turns again and exits the room. Leaving me alone.

But not for long. My stylist is right by my side within a few minutes.

"This way, Lance!"

He drags me down the corridor to a cabin not unlike the food cart on the tribute train. There has to be each food I have enjoyed the most on the table. Each food I have loved over the past few weeks.

I raise my eyebrows in question.

"Your last meal," My stylist says, in way of explanation.

"My last meal?" I say, blinking.

"Before the arena," He laughs as if he's just told a joke, "It's called the hunger games for a reason. You could literally starve to death in there!"

I roll my eyes before digging in.

Well, I can't waste all this wonderful food, can I?

**Galaxy Willis, District Six**

I sit at one end of the craft and my stylist the other. We don't move, and we certainly don't talk. But, every so often, our eyes raise up and we glance at each other. After about half an hour of calm movement all of the windows black out.

"Ohh! We must be getting close!" My stylist states dumbly, "I can't wait, can you?"

"No, I can't wait for my imminent death," I mumble.

"No need to be so shirty about it,"

Did she just say that? She just said that!

I'm surprised she isn't dead. I'm surprised _I _haven't killed her. I mean, I've had plenty of opportunities. I could have pushed her from the tribute train, stabbed her with a kitchen knife, shoved her out of a window, used a variety of weapons in the training centre to slaughter her. Even now, right now, I could force open the door and shove her out. If I clung onto something, I'd be fine. And she'd be dead.

On second thoughts, I'd have a lot of awkward questions to answer. _And _my chances in the arena would shrink to almost nothing. I doubt I'd make it out of the cornucopia alive...scratch that, I doubt I'll make it out at this very moment.

"Please exit the hovercraft!" A pleasant-sounding female voice calls out as the humming of the engine stops.

I am then lowered down by the ladder. But rather than reaching the ground, I am lowered deep under it.

I'm about to curse, but I swallow the word when I notice a solitary peacekeeper standing in the corner, her gun pointed in my direction. What is so intimidating about those people. It could be the guns, the surly facial expressions or the way I've seen them kill. Probably the latter. Peacekeepers are just adult careers that are allowed to murder in the comfort of our own homes.

Scary.

Once my stylist has joined us, the peacekeeper steps out of her corner and presses a piece of paper into my stylists hand and mutters something.

"Thank you," My stylist says, beaming.

The peacekeeper nods, respectively.

"Come along, Galaxy," My stylist says, pushing me into a harshly lit corridor. We follow it, taking a couple of left turns on our way. The pathway seems never ending. Actually, we could be going round and round in circles for all I know. Since the only things we pass are candles at certain intervals, peacekeepers and doorways. Yes, it is very likely we are passing the same candles and peacekeepers.

"Stop a moment!" My stylist eventually says, stopping to squint at the side of paper that I suppose is a map.

"It's probably this way," I say, uncertainly, gesturing to a side corridor.

I think my stylist is about to follow my plan when a peacekeeper comes marching down the corridor.

"Have you just arrived?" He says, "We were told not to expect the next lot for a good ten minutes,"

"No, we haven't just arrived," My stylist says, "The thing is, we happen to be lost,"

He pulls a two-way radio transmitter from his belt and says tiredly into it, "Avox to section D seven point four sub category nine. We've got another one. Lost tribute and stylist. Over."

"I'm so sorry, Sir," My stylist says smiling, "This doesn't happen often, does it?"

"Only Nine times this morning,"

_Nine So far._

After two minutes following an avox we reach our destination.

The launch room, as they call it in the capitol. Or the stockyard, as we call it in the Districts, thanks to some witty victor in District Ten.

The room isn't nearly as depressing as I thought it would be. It really just looks like a gym changing-room back at school, just more expensive. A simple chair in one corner with another banquet of food, the walls painted an icy blue. I shiver as my eyes graze over the seemingly harmless plastic transparent pipe in the corner. My instincts tell me before my mind. That pipe will take me to my death.

I turn my back on the pipe, concentrating on the Chair and food. Then I notice the package, lolling on the chair. The package is about as big as my body and is made out of thin cardboard. On a strikingly white label my name is scrawled along with the name of my district.

"What is this?" I ask my stylist, pointing to the package.

"Ah, That'll be your arena clothes. You may as well open it now,"

I rip open the package before yanking out the items of clothing one at a time. I pull out simple undergarments, combat trousers in a camouflaged pattern, a plain oversized evergreen t-shirt, a thick hooded jacket with tightened cuffs in a light brown colour and even darker hunting boots. Then, I delve deeper into the bag, bringing out my token. It's a bird, carved out of pewter and hanging from a silver chain. Supposedly a mockingjay, though it's hard to tell in this crude form. But, I can still see it. And, hopefully, the rebellion forces will too.

I dress in the clothing provided, fending off my stylists calls to help. I am only just looping my token around my neck when the call comes.

It is the same pleasant voice as in the hovercraft, "Please prepare to launch,"

I exhale one large breath and drag in another large one. _Keep calm._ I take shaken steps towards the launch pipe. Trying to smile.

I watch the door slide close behind me, as I step into the pipe.

The next thing I know, I am blinking in the sunlight, taking in the arena around me.

_This is it._

The arena is a grass field, with a distant forest to my left side and back. To my front and right, partially hidden by the large, golden cornucopia, is a street of houses. Not the sort back home in District Six, but not those in the capitol either. In fact, I doubt these houses are from any district. It's only when my eyes fall upon the ladybird red car that I realize where this arena is supposed to be set.

The twenty-first centaury.

My eyes swing back to rest on the cornucopia as I realize half of the countdown is over. As usual, the land around is strewn with different prizes. The most wanted ones right in the mouth of the cornucopia, the least reachable from my launch-pad.

I nod at my only visible ally, Tiger, and she gives a small smile.

_Let the games begin._

**Courage Jewell, District One**

Fifteen,

Fourteen,

Thirteen,

Twelve,

Eleven,

Ten,

Nine,

Eight,

Seven,

Six,

An explosion ripples out from the opposite side of the cornucopia, and one second later, a female voice cries out:

"Lance!"

Lance? He must be one of the lower-district citizens I couldn't be bothered to learn the name of. I don't see the point. Those who are not in the alliance are little more than corpses. Come to think of it, seeing the reaping's, those lower district people are living corpses before they set foot in the arena. Well, whoever he is, he must be a complete idiot, either that or a coward. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to _fall _from the launch pad? And how stupid do you have to be to actually commit suicide?

The gong rings out, but none of us move. What happens if the mines have reset?

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a girl- or maybe two- running from the cornucopia with minimal supplies. But I don't go after them, I run to the centre, grabbing a sward. We're here before the other alliance, and we all get our signature weapons.

"I'll stay here," Timber is saying, "Guard the mouth of the cornucopia. You do...Whatever you guys to at the cornucopia,"

I have to admit, she looks up to it, with an axe in each hand and throwing knifes in her pockets.

Most of the other careers clear off at this, but I stay, and so does Treasure.

Neither of us trust her.

"I'll be fine, honestly," She says.

I'm about to argue, but the air is already full of the screams of innocent victims and the smell of blood drags me from her.

Just a meter from the cornucopia I skewer my sward through a young girls stomach. Treasure follows me, and soon he has one killing under his belt, too. The next hour is a blur of blood and killing, and not all of it me. I take a jog around the cornucopia, at one point, taking in my victorious alliance. Then I'm battling side by side with Treasure, just as we did back in the training centre. The competition, a plucky pair from District Three. Its not big competition, obviously. But, as taught by our trainers, it is fun to bring up the ego of the victim...just to bring it crashing back down when they are killed.

I smash a fist against the skull of one of the boys, letting him fall to the ground. He knows he is beaten, at this point, and tries to crawl away. But I'm too quick, and my sward is through his neck before he can cry out. I watch the blood leak from his sliced neck, for a moment. Then I look right back up at Treasure. His opponent is lying on the floor, as Treasure smashes his skull in with a mace.

We grin at each other. Then, simultaneously, we look back to the golden gleam of the cornucopia.

"I'll go check on Timber," I say, watching her wave one of the two axes menacingly towards a tribute.

I run up to them and stab my sward right through the kids back.

"You could have got him," I say, kicking the body to the side.

**Timber Andrews, District Seven**

"I would have, if you hadn't got there first," I say.

"You haven't killed anyone, yet, have you?" Courage goes on to say.

I lower my head, as if I am shamed. No, no I haven't killed. That's not why I joined the alliance. I joined to help my district. And I have, because of me, Tiger has an axe. I wouldn't have killed anyone, its inhumane. I'm the one on the inside. The double agent.

He's obviously been fighting, and killing. He has a cut over one arm, but other than that, the blood on his hands, in his hair. That's not his. That's some innocent little kids. More than one, most likely.

Right now, his head is tilted to one side, questioningly. I have to give an answer.

"Well..." I say, "Most of the time they just saw me and made a run for it...or somebody else got there first, like you did,"

"That doesn't answer my question," Courage smirks, "You've either killed, or you haven't,"

I have to tell him the truth.

"No...not yet," I mumble.

"Well, you'd better get to it, hadn't you?" Courage says, "Otherwise people will start thinking you are soft. And by people, I mean us,"

I stay quiet.

"Look, I'll give you a head start," Courage drops his sward to the ground and lifts a young tribute boy in front of me, the kid must have tried to get something while we were arguing, "Go on, Kill him. Those axes need to see some blood,"

I look at the kid, he has pleading in his eyes.

"Please," His lips form the word as I lift my axe.

Then I stop.

"I knew it," Courage says in anger, "I bloody knew it. You can't do it, can you?"

Courage drops the boy who starts running.

That's when I strike out with my axe. It goes right into his side. Courage's.

His mouth falls open as he assesses the wound.

"You'll regret doing this to me," He stands up as straight as he can, considering the wound, "You'll regret joining the careers,"

I mumble that I'm sorry, that it was all a mistake and it wont happen again. But he ignores me, reaching for a sward.

But he never clasps hold of it. My axe hits him squarely in the chest before he can do anything. As I wrench the axe from his heart, I know I've done it. Killed courage, our leader. The leader. The leader of the careers.

"Hey, Timber," I spin around to see the caller. And its Treasure. Courage's best friend, that Treasure. He must have seen the whole thing.

"Hi," I say, reacting quickly.

He Yanks the axe from my left had, shouting, "I'm going to do exactly what you did to him to you,"

But I act quickly, before he can. A fist dives into my pocket, grabbing a knife witch I plunge into his right arm. His throwing arm. He drops the axe, but I ignore it. There's already an axe in my right. I get a pack over one shoulder. Then I run.

And I keep running.

All the way to the one place I could find homely. The forest.

But I don't stop, even once I am concealed by the trees. I run until I am so tried I can't run any longer. So tired I am doubled over in pain. And I can barely breathe. I am gasping for breath. It's wheezing in and out.

But I'm alive. I'm actually alive.

The careers didn't come after me.

I actually killed the leader of the careers, and lived to tell the tale. So what if I'm not on the inside, anymore? I've done everyone a huge favour. Courage is out of it, one of the biggest competitors is gone.

After I have got my breath back, I continue through the forest. Walking, this time.

I'm still thinking of Courage, but not the moment my axe slammed into his chest. Back in the training centre. The way we laughed together and joked around as we trained. And not just me and Courage, all of us. All of us, all of the careers.

In a way...killing Courage...that was like killing a friend.

I just killed a friend.

I just _killed_ a friend.


	12. Chapter 12

**Ruth Wentworth, District Ten**

We were the first out of there, me and Sunrise. The second the gong rang out, we leapt from the launch pads, and ran, collecting the few items we needed. Or, should I say, we dared to grab. I thought it would be tricky, since the two tributes positioned between us were both from District two.

Whilst they were wondering about safety, and staring at the remains of Lance we were scooping up prizes and running.

I managed to grab a loaf of bread and a miniature crossbow- perfect for someone my size. Sunrise smartly collected a large bottle of water and a couple of thick blankets. Then, just before the fighting began, we darted off, away from the cornucopia.

We've been moving since then. Running at first, but then slowing to a walk. I've been a nervous wreck, pointing the crossbow at every rustling leaf. Through the small villages that make up a large part of the arena, that's were we go. If it had been my choice, we would be in the middle of the woods, right now, or even better, in a field similar to the cornucopia one that reminds me so much of home. We've passed through small forest sections, and bunches of fields, but only because they separate the villages from each other.

To be honest, it doesn't matter where we go. As long as we are alive, uninjured, and moving.

At around midday the amount of small villages lessened, and we began a slight climb, helping each other over the large rocks that started appearing. Now, as the sun begins to set, and the mist starts coming in I realize we are almost at the top. Then, just as I am about to suggest stopping for the night, the cannons begin to sound.

Each cannon represents the death of an innocent child.

"Fifteen," Sunrise mumbles as they are completed, and I realize, she hasn't said a word in hours. We have just walked, silently. If any words spoken, they were spoken by me.

Fifteen deaths in the first day. That's not too many compared to a regular games. Normally, we would have lost around twenty tributes at this point. This year, there are more tributes, so I expected more deaths.

"Should we set up camp here?" I ask.

Before I get an answer bright lights fill the sky. Red and yellow, Green and blue. Whatever this light is, it is coming from over the cliff. It could be anything, an odd mutt, another gamemaker trap...

We run to the top off the hill, not caring for safety. Whatever that odd light is, it has somehow hypnotised us.

"Wow," Sunrise breaths out in awe.

I am utterly speechless.

The place is a city, not unlike the capitol. But somehow this place is different. More human, more safe.

Alarm bells are ringing in my head, but I choose to ignore them.

This place is beautiful. The towers pop with colour, a giant wheel in the sky flashing with bright bursts of colour. Several explosions go off in the air. Colours like red and gold and silver and blue. But I am not afraid. It is so beautiful I couldn't possibly be afraid.

I let the crossbow fall to the floor, and step forward.

But Sunrise grabs my arm, shoving the crossbow into the other.

I blink several times as she turns we away from the lights.

"Get a grip," she says, her hands on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry," I say, with guilt in my voice, "I just felt so safe...and that... Whatever that was...it was beautiful. More beautiful than I've seen in a long time,"

"I know," Sunrise says sensibly, "But with every beauty there is great danger hidden. Especially now we're in the arena,"

I nod, wanting things to go back to normal, "Lets camp here, for tonight,"

"Okay,"

We quickly build a shelter out of some of the rocks, making sure to build an entrance facing the cliff edge. We slip inside, tucking ourselves under the blankets, not talking.

All of a sudden, the explosions stop, and the anthem begins.

The capital seal appears in the sky, floating. The sky has now darkened considerably, but we can still see due to the lights of the city.

I drag in a deep breath, mentally preparing for the worst, but praying for the best.

**Skylark Marshall, District Seven**

As the sound of the anthem reaches my ears, and the light of the seal fills the sky, I can see it clearly from my position in this tree. And I think of the other tributes. Fifteen cannons, those could have been any of the other tributes, any of those could be from the rebel groups, the anti-career alliance, the career alliances...though I doubt it. Any of those casualties could be from my district...my home...District Seven.

I could be the only tribute from District Seven left...the only one still able to breathe. The others could be, right this moment, being packed into coffins, cleaned of their own blood.

...sent back home. To be mourned...but, eventually, to be forgotten. Forgotten for the future tributes that will go into the hunger games, solely to be murdered. I swear, if I manage to leave this arena alive, I will remember all of them. For what they were before the capitol twisted their personalities.

I let images of each tribute from my home to fill my head...

Ebony with her quiet kindness, her ability to always listen, and her shy laughter during the tribute interviews.

Timber with her quick temper, her do or die attitude and her look just before the reaping. Scared, secretive. Like she knew we would all be reaped.

Tiger with her quirky rebellious ways, her laughter that I heard so much both back home and in the capitol and her shout of 'I volunteer' at the reaping.

Hawk with his amazing sense of humour, his look of fear as he rose up beside me in the arena, his look of horror as Lance jumped from is launch pad.

Basil with his unknown intelligence, his small smile as we watched the escort fall over her own feet in the train, the way his smile grew once we were in the food carriage.

The truth is, I don't want any of them dead. But I don't want to have to kill them, or even see them die.

The anthem finishes, just as the last pictures fall from my brain. I feel a droplet of water slide down my face. It may, or may not be a tear.

The first picture of a tribute appears as the capitol seal fades away.

They always show it like this, a large image of the deceased along with the name and district printed underneath. Then, a smaller image in the corner, of another tribute. The one that killed them.

They will be showing full coverage of each death at home, after the image. But we don't get that 'privilege'.

We only get the faces.

And the first face is...

Courage Jewell of District One.

They always begin with District One, then go down to twelve. Only, you never expect it on the first day. District One. They normally get far.

I peer at the other tribute, the one in the corner...

That's when I realize I recognise it.

Timber. She killed him.

She...killed him?

I try to recall Courage and Timber in the cornucopia, but, for me, it was really just an in and out thing. The last image of Courage I see is just after the tribute interviews. He and a group of other careers, including Timber, went off to talk. But, it didn't look like they were planning anything. It didn't look like they were thinking about the games. They seemed to just be talking. Laughing together. Like...

...Friends.

I shake the thoughts from my head, as the next tribute picture fills the space, replacing Courage.

This one is more expected.

Flame Lawson of District Three.

I don't remember Flame from anywhere from before the gong rang out. I don't remember anything during the small part of the games he survived, either.

I do notice the smug smile of courage in the corner of the image. So he killed at least one before Timber put him out of it.

The next tribute that takes the space is...

Mackenzie Mallory of District Three.

Now, Mackenzie, I do remember. She was one of the lovers in District Three. Dominated the chariot rides...but then pattered out. Were ignored by the capitol in favour of the careers. Of the actual fighters.

My eyes almost pop out of my head when I realize who killed her.

Its the other girl from her District, not her lover, the other one. The one that joined the careers. Electra?

I could never kill someone from my own District, even when faced with my own death. But this girl, Electra, she has a glint of evil in her eyes, and I know she could. If she wanted to. And she did want to. She chose to murder an innocent from her own district.

I have no memories of Electra, so now I will always think of her as an inhumane, bloodthirsty monster.

She is almost worse than the careers.

Yarrow Gupter of District Three.

Cleo Pyleeth of District Five.

Kai Littlewoods of District Five.

The next three tributes are all nobodies, as far as the capitalizes are concerned. All made no impact before the Games began, and were brutally murdered by the career tributes.

The face of Kai Littlewoods is pealed from the sky and instantly replaced by another.

Lance Brisket of District Five.

That was one face I knew would be in the sky.

If lance hadn't died the way he did, I would have absolutely no recollection of this boy.

_A slight breeze whips around me, as I rise onto the podium, into the arena._

_Hawk is on one side, a look of nervousness on his face. The other side is a boy, a boy I don't even recognise. _

_The count is on about half way when he turns to the other side, shouting something to a girl a few launch pads away from him. From his district, perhaps?_

_I don't hear the words, but I know it is a sensitive topic, because tears start to dribble from her eyes, and she is shaking her head._

_Then he turns back, to face me._

_This time, his words are quieter, but I still hear them _

_"Keep the flame going. Don't let it burn out, please."_

_I know a look of utter bewilderment flashes to my face._

_What? What does he mean?_

_I'm about to ask when he turns, pinning a smile to his face. _

_Then he jumps._

I shake my head, wondering about his last words. Were they to me, or someone else?

It doesn't matter who those words were directed at, I will puzzle over the meaning for the rest of my life.

Lance disappears from the sky, and his face is replaced by another. This one, a girl.

Alia Hill of District Six.

The blind girl.

It hurts that those words are the only way I can think about this poor girl. I can't even think of her as the blind girl that did something amazing. She is merely the blind girl that died like so many others on day one.

I bet, back home, she is more than just a blind girl. I bet she has done something amazing. Or, at least, she has someone that really loves her.

...that is, right now, morning her. Crying their hearts out for her.

Even if I don't know a thing about her, she'll be missed by somebody.

Her face leaves the sky with a flash. I wait patiently, wondering why this one is taking so long to come up.

Then I realize why.

The next face could be someone I know. Someone I _really _know. Ebony, Timber, Tiger, Hawk or Basil. Any one of them could be the next face in the sky. Or all of them. Not all of them next, of course. But each one of them could appear in the sky. Each of them could be dead. Gone. No longer here.

The next face appears...

And I don't recognise it. Not well, at least.

I read the name printed under the picture.

Lock King of District Six.

I breathe out.

Okay, so it wasn't any of them this time, but District Seven is still next.

The next face isn't anyone I know either.

Darrel Parker of District Eight.

_District Eight! _

I am sorry for their loss, I truly am. But because that face showed in the sky, it means all my friends - all my fellow District Seven Tributes - are safe. For that, I am thankful. Very thankful.

But also depressed.

They are alive, not dead.

So, in the future, the very near future, I may be forced against my own will to murder them.

Maybe it would have been better if they had...

No.

Another face lights up the sky with her smile.

Fern Laurelson of District Eight.

And after Fern, four more faces appear in the sky.

Randi Rodgers of District Nine.

Faye Miles of District Ten.

Falcon Stevenson of District Eleven.

Mitch Collins of District Twelve.

All of those people, killed by careers. In fact, each death today was caused by the career pack. Well, the career packs. I wonder, how can the career pack live with themselves knowing that they are responsible for the murders of fourteen innocent people. Even if they were trained their whole lives for it.

Then I realize.

Although the careers were holding the weapons, they were not responsible for those deaths. For those lost lives.

The capitol is.

**Treasure Champion, District One**

We sit by the fire in the exact same positions as we did whilst watching the faces of the dead. After I realized I wouldn't be able to catch Timber, I called the group together and, vaguely told them what happened. By vaguely, I didn't mention her name. But now her face has shown up in the sky, and they know. She killed courage, and lived to tell the tale.

Now, the deaths in the sky are over.

And everyone is staring at me.

"What?" I say, then, "What is it?"

"I just can't believe you let her get away with it," Coral starts to rant, "You let her swan in, kill our leader...and then you let her get away?!"

"It wasn't quite like that, Coral," I say weakly.

"Of course not. You got a little wound on your arm, so that's alright? Isn't it?" Coral continues ranting, "The thing is, back home, we got injuries like that on a daily basis,"

Careers arguing. On the very first day. We should be out there, right now. Hunting. Killing.

I bet the other career alliance are.

We would be if Timber was dead- or, Courage alive. And, I'm the one to blame, there.

"You can't blame him for that Coral," Blue says, "He is from District One, after all,"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Treasure, She means nothing,"

Olympia holds her hands up, between us. She speaks in a calming manor. She means well, I know she does. But I have no idea how I am supposed to respond.

"Everyone, just calm down," Olympia continues, "We don't want to lose another career, do we? Because that would put the other alliance right ahead of us,"

"You're right," I say, answering after a moment of silence.

Coral looks down for a moment, considering her options.

I know what they are. Agreeing with us, coming up with an argument that will win us all over or disagreeing and then being slaughtered by the rest of us. Personally, I hope she will select the last option. Though, of course, I'm fine with both options one and two.

"Okay, yes, you happen to be correct," Coral says, eventually, "But I want to know what went wrong, there. How did you not kill her? If she had killed Blue...or River, I would have slaughtered her,"

It takes me about thirty seconds to realize all eyes are on me.

"Okay, I'll tell you," I say before launching into the story.

About how Courage had gone to Timber.

About how Timber had not killed a kid, then stabbed her axe into Courage.

About how Courage had threatened to kill Timber.

And how she had killed him.

Then, about her stealing the supplies after stabbing me with a knife.

And her running.

"Why didn't you yell out?" Coral said, "We'd have got her,"

"I did," I argue, "But you all looked up at her, then went back to killing,"

"We all thought you were yelling _to _Timber," Honour says.

"Just a load of stupid mistakes-" Olympia says, but before she can go on, Coral interrupts.

"-That make us look weak," Is what she says, "If all my sponsors go, I'll be blaming you,"

"As I was saying," Olympia says, looking at Coral, "It is very easy to fix those mistakes,"

"How?" Blade asks.

"By killing Timber. And, boy, the audience will get a good show,"

The whole load of us start cheering. Thank God we made Olympia our new leader.

"Wait!" A voice calls out, as the cheering stops, its Honour, "I don't want to break the party line, or anything, but shouldn't someone stay here? In case some idiot tries to steal our supplies?"

"You do that, Honour," Olympia says.

Us others all leap up and delve into the cornucopia, were we have stored all of the supplies.

"What if the other alliance attack?" Honour says, over the noise we are making, "I could take out a few on my own, but not all of them. Then they'd kill me and make off with all of the supplies,"

We all stop, waiting for what Olympia has to say.

"Okay, we'll be in two groups," Olympia says, "Four here, four hunting,"

"And we'll swap over tomorrow?" River asks.

"Yes,"

"In that case, I'll stay here," River says, sitting down beside the fire, with Honour. They are soon joined by me and Electra.

The others leave soon after, taking the weapons they are best with. I only hope they catch Timber.

And make the rest of her short life hell.

**Nano Lockhart, District Three**

They provided me with a television in my cell.

Nice of them, really.

Nice of them to force me to watch my little brother suffering in the hunger games. Nice of them to make someone so against the hunger games watch it all day every day.

I thought my brother would be dead on the first day, but he's still alive and kicking.

He even got out of the Cornucopia with a sleeping bag, knife and food.

I suspect things will start going wrong pretty soon. A pack of mutts will be unleashed on him, he will be in for a duel with the careers.

In a way, I am in a worse state than if he had just been killed. Now, I jump at every sound fearing his life. And, I fear anything I do will be used against him. I have to be a perfect prisoner, just to stop him from suffering.

And, then, perhaps they will let him live.

Just so he can see me die.

"Psssst!"

I look around my cell, at the blaring television that shows a group of four careers sitting around a camp fire, at the hard wooden bed.

_What the hell was that?_

"Nano! Where are you?"

The voice comes again in a hushed voice.

Its coming from outside my cell.

I press my face against the cell door's window, my eyes alert.

"I'm here."

"Nano, Its good to see you,"

Smith! Its Smith in a peacekeeper costume.

"And you," I respond, "But what are you doing? You'd be in here with me if you were caught!"

"The others have sorted it. The peacekeepers will wake up tomorrow and not remember a thing. And all CCTV is down,"

"And the others that were in there with me?"

"All alive. Not enough evidence, apparently. But some were fined or flogged,"

"Thanks for coming to tell me,"

I expect her to turn and go, but instead she flashes a grin, and pulls a key from her pocket.

"I came to get you out, not to give information,"

She disappears from my sight and I hear the sound of a key in a lock. The door swings open, and I take one step back.

"I can't..."

"What?"

"My brother..."

"Look, Nano, you don't want to hear this, but its the truth," She says determinedly, "Your brothers fate has been chosen. He'll die in the arena, and if you don't come with me, right now, you'll die too,"

"Okay," I say, "But if I'm caught..."

"You won't be."

She throws me a peacekeeper outfit from her bag, and turns whilst I quickly change. It only takes a few minutes, and then she turns back.

"You'll get your train in exactly thirty-seven minutes," She says checking her watch, as I lower the helmet onto my head.

"Train? Where am I going?"

"The capitol,"

"The capitol?" I say, horrified, "Look, Smith, I..."

She ignores my protests, and continues with what she was going to say, "It wont be a long journey, only three hours, you'll change into a capitol outfit on the way."

She puts down the bag with a thump, and pulls out a shirt to show me what she means.

"Then, you'll meet a rebel at the other station," She pauses to pull a photograph from her top pocket, "His name is Gladius Bard,"

I take in the image of the guy. He doesn't look like a capitol citizen, if you excuse the wacky clothing. He has short dark brown hair, light skin and green eyes. I do notice a hint of makeup, but nothing in comparison to our escort.

"Will I get a new name...a new identity?" I ask, knowing it will be a real tell-tale sign if I turn up with the same name as a recently escaped rebel.

"Yes, you'll be Vibius Bard," She responds.

"And then what?"

"You'll stay with him. He'll be your boss," She says, "By the way, Lose the bag during the journey, but don't lose what's in the front pocket,"

She taps the pocket she means.

"Your ticket and information to prove you belong to the capitol are in there,"

I zip the main part of the bag up, and grab the handle.

"Lets go," I say, "Just in case the peacekeepers wake early,"

We both know that is impossible, but we leave the building anyway, careful to march once in public view. We pass a set of peacekeepers on the way through the square.

"How many did you put out?" I hiss, once we are out of hearing distance.

"Only those that work in the prison,"

The rest of the journey is in silence, with just the sound of our peacekeeper boots marching along.

We arrive at the station ten minutes before the train does, so all we can do is exchange small-talk.

"What happens if they follow me?" I ask, as I hear the train coming.

"We've dug an escape tunnel. Made it look like you've gone to the woods," Smith says, "They'll be hunting you there for days. That'll give you enough time to get settled into the capitol,"

I nod in response, thanking the heavens that I have such an ingenious team.

I want to hug her, as the train pulls up, but instead I hold out a hand for her to shake, "Good luck, Smith,"

She smiles, shaking my hand, "Good luck, Vibius,"

I don't think I'll ever get used to that name.

A few minutes later, I'm on the train. On my way to the capitol.


	13. Chapter 13

**Brooklyn Silk, District Eight**

This place is so beautiful.

So much more beautiful than the capitol, and so much more beautiful than the dump we were launched into.

It is a comfort to me. Yes, I will die but I will die in a place of beauty.

I thought I knew beauty before, back home, but I was so stupid. So naïve. We were taught, back in the factories, about beauty. About what sort of clothes were thought of as beautiful. And about how to make people become beautiful. We were also taught that some were not meant to be beautiful. That some could not become truly beautiful. That some were so ugly that no amount of beautiful clothing and makeup could make them beautiful.

I thought I was one of those people.

And going to the capitol 'proved' what I believed to be true.

Before this day, I actually believed the people of the capitol to be beautiful. Now, although my death is near, I am happy. I know that the horribly fake 'beauty' of the capitol is not beauty at all. And I know the natural world that I am standing in right now is the true beauty.

The real deal.

The moment I saw this place, this river, bathed in the sunset I felt something stir in my heart. And I know I saw true beauty. Now, dawn is only just breaking, the light only just showing through the trees and the river is bathed in the same beautiful light that it was last night.

Then I realize.

This may be beauty, but it is not real beauty. This place was crafted purposely by the gamemakers.

This place is as fake as the capitol.

I stand up, hurt.

I have spent the whole night here, anyway. I should probably go. I know from experience that the careers hunt through the night. There are two alliances this year so it is even more likely that I should meet with either group. Technically, it is still night. And they might still come across me. And they would certainly kill me, if they did come across me.

I gather up my few things, the knife, the water bottle and the useless brown sack. For some reason, a smile comes to my lips as I turn to leave the place.

I walk for a few minutes, before I pause again.

The beautiful river is still in view, I know it is. But, I stop.

Its a bow and a sheaf of arrows, laying against the tree along with a large heavy-looking stick that could be used as a weapon. Then, on the ground, a sward with a scarlet ribbon wrapped around it.

None of these weapons look like they have seen blood, but that doesn't mean they haven't. I'm no expert, but nothing explains why the careers should leave these weapons totally unattended.

Perhaps this is some kind of trap.

My eyes instantly dart around the area. I see no nets, no ropes, no sign of traps.

_There must be something, there has to be._

This is what I should do. Get out, run. Run for my life.

Even if this trap doesn't work, the careers will be back. They'll be bound to come back here and check. They wouldn't let starvation get the victim. Careers tend to make things personal. And very bloody.

That's why I have to run.

Somehow, I can't make myself move. Somehow my feet are glued to the ground.

"Run," My own voice whispers out, "I have to run,"

But I cannot. Why can I not run?

It is the simplest thing, something I have always been able to do. But now, the moment I really need it, I can't even walk away.

_Maybe that is the nature of the trap._

That can't be true. How would the careers manage a trap like that?

_Maybe the careers did not set the trap._

Who else would...

The gamemakers!?

No. This can't be a gamemaker trap. If it is, I am doomed.

I tell myself to calm down, to keep cool. Panicking will do nothing.

That's when I hear the footsteps. Like the march of a peacekeeper. Smart and bold. Not afraid of drawing attention to themselves. I can hear voices, too. Voices that are as bold as the footsteps. Voices that seem to be arguing.

It has to be the careers.

The footsteps stop, but the voices continue.

And all I can do is pray that they do not see me. _Pray_, as if that will help me in any way. I'm as good as dead. My luck is gone. I turn my head towards the direction of the footsteps.

I cannot see the careers, but something deep inside tells me that they can see me.

Suddenly, I regain control of my movements. It is too late to run, any fool would know that. They are surrounding me, I know it. There must be at least six of them, for I heard several different voices and several sets of footsteps. As quick as a dart, my arm reaches out, and flings down the brown sack. The sack sends all three items down. They are just about hidden. I have no reason why, my excuse is: the forest commanded me to.

No matter, I am nothing more than a living corpse.

**Blue Tenison, District Four**

"We should probably be getting back," Olympia says. "We won't find her, that's obvious. She'd know we would come after her and will be miles away by now. Coming after her was a stupid idea, anyway. We'd need a pack of mutts to drive her out,"

"I'm not being funny, but we don't have a pack of mutts," Blade says, raising an eyebrow.

"That had not escaped my attention, Blade," Olympia says in an exasperated voice.

We stop dead in out tracks, forming a small circle. This means Coral and Olympia intend to talk it out. Blade and I probably won't even get a say in the matter. I, for one, don't care in the slightest. I say few words, anyhow, only really voicing my opinions when I feel it necessary. Blade, I thought, would care more, but he just begins cleaning the Blade of one of his knives on the end of his shirt.

"So, what do we do?" Coral says, "I am not willing to just drop the idea. Courage is dead. I will get revenge, no matter what it takes,"

"It will take time," Olympia says, "It could take days, weeks, even, to drag her out of the woods,"

"The longer it takes to find her, the longer I take to kill her," Coral says, smiling evilly, "And, for what it stands for, I reckon she hasn't come this way,"

"Treasure said she came through that part of the woods, we saw a few signs of disturbance in the woods,"

"To be fair, that could have been anyone,"

_Since when did coral wish to be_ fair?

Then she continues, "And how do we know Treasure can be trusted?"

"What?" Blade says, it is the first thing he has said for a while.

"I think," Coral says, "Timber and Treasure are in an alliance of their own. They killed Courage together, they planned it. And, now, they are killing the others. We'll return to a camp of blood. The supplies looted. They could even be allied with the other alliance."

"Very imaginative," Says Blade, unfazed by Coral, "But I don't believe it of Treasure,"

My head begins to nod, I agree with him. And so does Olympia.

"Maybe, they are all allied against us," Coral continues, "Perhaps they..."

Coral continues speaking of this, but I begin to ignore her, and I think the others have too.

So I begin to hear other sounds, the wind through the branches, far-off bird cry and...

"Shut up, Coral," My voice suddenly interrupts her mid-flow.

Olympia begins to speak, but I silence her, also.

"Just listen," I whisper.

Eyes begin to light up. Its the sound of a tribute, it has to be. They are not harmed, but panicked.

Whoever it is, they should be panicked. Because, we are here now.

We move on, quieter now. We are still making a lot of noise, and Coral is muttering to herself. The person I heard is probably far away by now. But finding Coral somebody to kill, even if that person isn't Timber, will put her in a good mood. And that will shut up her stupid conspiracy theories.

"Stop," I say in a hushed voice.

Everybody pauses, looking at me expectantly.

"There, look..."

Everyone's eyes follow the point of my finger. The tribute is a girl, probably about fourteen. I can only see the back of her head which is covered in dark brown hair. She stands, stock still, staring at a tree with a sack of some kind hanging from one hand. Perhaps she is hiding? If she is, she is doing a bad job of it. I can also see the unmistakable gleam of weaponry mostly hidden by her fragile form.

"Is that her?" Coral says, breaking out of her possessive muttering.

Almost in answer the girl cranes her neck to look in our direction, dropping her cargo a moment after.

"Its not her," Coral sounds disappointed.

"You can still kill her," Blade points out, "I don't mind. You have this one,"

I swear her whole face lights up.

Within moments, we surround the girl, and Coral takes hold of her arm.

"Now, listen to me, very, very carefully," Coral says to the girl, tightening the grip on her arm, "If you do exactly as I say, things might turn your way."

_They wont._

Blade passes a wicked looking knife to Coral. And Coral begins to trace the knife slowly over the girls face, listening to the screams as if they were beautiful music.

"So, what is your name, little girl?" Coral asks, pausing to scrape a little of the blood from the kids face.

"Brooklyn S-silk," The poor girl screams out.

"Ahhh...Brooklyn," Coral says, sending shivers up my own spine.

Coral suddenly unwraps her hand from Brooklyn's arm and pushes her into the arms of Blade and Olympia. She barely struggles.

"So, Brooklyn," Coral continues speaking whilst ripping the sleeve from Brooklyn's jacket, "Where do you come from?"

"D-district Eight,"

She has some spirit, I grant her that. Most would be unable to speak by this point.

Coral begins on the arm, dragging the knife over the kids bony arms, painting images in blood.

"P-please..." Brooklyn yells as her arms become covered in blood.

"Please what?" Coral shouts, "Stop? Dig deeper with my knife? What is it you want?"

If I was in Corals place, I would have weakened. Let her go or put her out of her misery. But I am not Coral.

I do not have a heart of stone like she does.

I cannot stop her doing this, but, in a way, I cannot bare to let this go on. Maybe I am unlike the rest of the careers. I need to find some way of distracting the others. But, they are looking straight at Brooklyn so intensely that I don't believe anything that I say would drag them away from this. Unless I offered Timber to them. I could shout out that I saw her but its unlikely to work. And if it did, that would leave Brooklyn to die a slow painful death.

With the wounds she already has and the ones Coral is inflicting now, she wouldn't last until morning. If only I could make them all look away for a moment, then I could stab Brooklyn quickly. She would still die but it would be quick and painful rather than slow and painful.

She has been through so much pain already. If only I could...she has a weapon.

"Where's the weapon?"

Everyone looks at me as if I am crazy.

It makes no sense, but I saw it with my own eyes.

"What?" Coral says, pausing, the Blade of a knife pressed to Brooklyn's neck, "She has a weapon and has chosen to let her fate be this? Don't be simple. She'd have fought. Fought until we killed her,"

"I know what I saw," I mutter, and I can see in the girls eyes that she knows I know the truth.

The other careers all raise their eyebrows at me, before turning back to Brooklyn. Coral continues torturing the girl. Every so often placing the tip of her knife to Brooklyn's chest or neck. I know what that means, that means, 'look, I could kill you, if I wanted but this is far more fun,' And she will continue 'this'. The girl could last minutes, or hours. Coral will keep going until Brooklyn has bled white.

My eyes dart around the area, I daren't look at Brooklyn. If only I hadn't seen her. Then, she would still be alive. And we would be on our way back to camp. Coral still going on about the daft conspiracy.

My eyes eventually rest on the sack, the one Brooklyn dropped. There's a distraction. Its not as if Brooklyn will live to need this stuff, anyway. And it doesn't even look like much.

I crouch down, attempting to ignore the yells. And I take the large sack in my hands. There is a small object inside it, but I instantly drop it to my side. There are weapons here. But something about these weapons is odd. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but something is weird. These are somehow other-worldly. Like they have some mighty power.

"I _told _you she had weapons,"

Coral turns around to face me. She is angered, of course, this is the second time I have stopped her from this killing.

"So?" She asks.

"There is something odd about them, come see for yourself," I say in response, taking a good look at the shaft of arrows and the elegant-looking bow.

Coral sighs but comes to my side to examine the weapons. She takes hold of the sward, which is excellently crafted and has a crimson ribbon tied in a bow just above the handle.

"Where did you get these from, Brooklyn?" I ask, looking at the girl that is now nothing more than a bloody piece of flesh strung between Olympia and Blade.

"I didn't get them," She says, her breathing becoming heavy and her voice rasping, "I found them here,"

"Are you simple minded or something? You've seen what we can do," Coral says, looking straight at Brooklyn, "You dress a sward in ribbon and don't even use it,"

Brooklyn shows no sign of even hearing the words. She is concentrating on staying alive, although there is no hope for her.

"Oi, you two, come take a look at these," Coral says after a few moments, "These are really cool,"

Blade and Olympia hesitate for a moment before dropping what is left of Brooklyn and coming over to us. One glance at Brooklyn tells me she will not survive much longer. Although, it still depends. God could be on her side. She's still alive but she's barely breathing.

I take up the quarterstaff in my arms. Its odd to see this sort of weapon in the arena. I only know what it is because it was my fathers specialist weapon.

"You know what's really weird?" Olympia asks.

"What is it?" I ask, looking her right in the eyes.

"None of these are marked with the capitol seal," She points out.

That is weird. Everything back at the camp is marked with it. And, according to Ocean, my friend and mentor, all of the weapons have to be.

That's why it scares me.

**Brooklyn Silk, District Eight**

The careers continue to discuss the weapons. I really don't understand how they can take so much interest. But, the interest is a good thing. It gives me time to escape. I try for a moment, dragging myself along the ground.

It takes me a minute to stop. I have barely gone a metre, and the blood-trails are obvious. Plus, I am exhausted.

I am dying.

So, I try again, this time towards the careers. They flung my sack to the side and if I could only get to it I would be able to put myself out of my misery. I would die, but on my own terms. Like the boy that flung himself from the launch pad before the games even begun.

That was brave.

So I clamp my lips together, and drag myself dangerously close to the careers. My hand reaches out, desperately grasping for the sack. For the knife that will end it all.

But I never grip hold of it.

Another hand grabs hold of mine.

Its the boy. And he sounds to alarm, telling the others.

"Look at her," he taunts, "Not even able to kill herself,"

One of the girls, Olympia, I hear one of them call her, takes hold of my small amount of supplies and empties them over the floor.

"Go on," Coral says, "Let me have another go at her, this time, with her own knife,"

I whimper out in fear.

"No," Another of the girls argues.

They all look at her expectantly.

"Let her die alone," she says, "Just leave her here to die,"

The girl that says all of this is the one that stood apart from the others when Coral started to cut me.

"Slow and painful?" the boy exclaims, "I like it!"

So that's what they decide. They take every weapon, including the quarterstaff that none of them can use. They have my water and my knife, so I cannot try to survive or put myself out of it.

"Here," Coral says, as she walks past, "Have the stupid ribbon back,"

I watch the scarlet ribbon float down and take it in my hand.

I remember stitching a dress this colour, once. It was for a school project. I always cared a lot about my grades, so I spent all my spare time stitching away with my needle and thread. The end product was beautiful. I felt like an old-time princess whilst wearing it. And, now, the dress belongs to my sister. I think she loves it too.

The boy and Olympia have already passed, but the third girl is kneeling down next to me.

She has a dagger in her hand, so I brace myself for the pain. But it never comes. The girl gives me the dagger.

"God bless you," I manage to croak out.

She nods, then smiles pitifully before running to catch up with the others.

Perhaps some careers aren't as heartless as I have been lead to believe. Only, most of them are.

I force myself to struggle around, so I can still see the beautiful river that I spent one peaceful night at. I take the knife in my right hand, and the ribbon in my left. I make sure both the pond and ribbon are in my view when I take proper grip of the knife, and send it plummeting into my chest.

My vision blurs, for a moment, showing a vibrant red and a silvery blue, before I black out.


End file.
